Within These Shadowed Walls
by pottersweetie
Summary: Things seem a little different within the shadowed walls of an unfamiliar castle, in an unfamiliar country. Time moves a little faster when you want it to go slow. Fleur's account of GoF. FleurCedric- until the sequel though.
1. Le Jour de Chien

**Within these Shadowed Walls  
By: pottersweetie**  
**  
**

Author's Note: I'm horrible. No really, I am. I have so many things I should be doing right now; art project, studying for history test, writing the stuff I HAVE to get done, researching for my English paper, or even updating the five million other things I should be updating. But no, I'm starting something new... Like I said, I'm horrible. Anyway, this is taking place during the trio's fourth year, although you'll hardly read about them in this. It's about Fleur's experiences around and during the whole Triwizard Tournament. It is in her point of view. I don't know if anyone's ever done this before, but I'm gonna try it because Fleur is slowly becoming my favorite character... Don't ask me why. Hope you like it! **Almost COMPLETELY faithful to the movie**, sorry. Enjoy, Read, Review! 

**Chapter One  
Le Jour de Chien**

I hate August thirty-first.

It's the day I have to wake up early. The day I have to travel from Chateau de Printemps Mignon, my family's home in Giverny, to the hidden wizarding inn, Le Jour de Chien, where I'll stay with my family until leaving for the train station the next day. It usually feels like the hottest day of the year, with the humidity reaching unbearable levels. It's the day that makes me feel as if I can't breathe, the simple twenty-four hours that make me groan and sigh just thinking about it. I couldn't care less if I'm here or there, but I hate traveling, especially in a stuffy car, packed inside with my family members for several hours.

And unfortunately for me, today is that day.

The sun spills into my room as Sara and Patrice, two maids in our house, open all of the heavy, ornate blue flowered drapes and fasten them so they'll remain open all day. The unwelcome sunlight fills the room with an irritating brightness and warmth that I detest. I love for my room to be dark and cool when I fall asleep, and especially when I wake up.

_August thirty-first_, I remind myself. _The only reason I'm awake at this inhuman hour._

"Mademoiselle Fleur, your mother says breakfast will be served in the Breakfast Room in an hour," Sara says, standing before my bed. "Shall I run you a bath?"

I nod, "A cold one, if you will."

"Oui mademoiselle," Sara bobs a curtsy and scurries into my bathroom to prepare the bathtub.

I close my eyes again, feeling the tiredness burn behind them. My bed is so comfortable with its silky sheets and soft quilts, my head feels light and sleepy as it rests on my swan-feather-down pillow. I yawn, arching my back and stretching my arms above my head. I then open my eyes again and see Patrice waiting to fix all the covers. I unhappily crawl out of bed and gracefully drag my feet across the cool wooden floor in my silk shorts and button-up t-shirt pajamas. Patrice immediately begins fluffing the pillows and straightening the sheets. I know all of my bedding will be washed later today, the servants just don't do those kinds of chores in front of me or the rest of the family.

As I brush my hair in front of my vanity table, peering at myself in the large mirror, Patrice begins making light conversation with me, "Are you excited to be going back to school, Mademoiselle Fleur?"

_I'm going to miss my bed_, I think to myself.

"Oui, I can hardly wait to see all of my friends," I answer.

Ha! All of my friends! What friends? The one or two I actually have?

I have admitted to myself long ago that I'm unpopular at the magical boarding school I attend, Beauxbatons. It's partly because Papa is extremely wealthy and has paid for the building of a new wing at the school and all the teachers are always being particularly nice to me, especially the headmistress, Madame Maxime. The other reason, is because I'm part Veela, only a quarter though. But all the girls hate me for it, no boys ever pay attention to them if I'm in the room, no teachers ever praise them if I had charmed them first... Sadly.

Jealousy, I like to reassure myself, is why I've only made one single friend in all my seven years at school.

"Your bath is ready, Mademoiselle," Sara says after emerging from the bathroom.

"Merci, Sara," I reply, as I walk across the room and into my palatial and private bathroom where I'll wake myself in a tub of frigid water, anything to prepare myself for the relentless day ahead.

The Breakfast Room is a medium-sized room on the first floor, towards the back of the house. It has a large window at the far wall, presenting a spacious view of the backyard, without showing any trace of the terrace. There are intricate tapestries hanging along the walls, and beautiful, exotic plants placed all around the room. The head of a white, male goat is mounted on one of the walls, and small, crystalline lamps run along the side table.

The table at which we eat is relatively small, fitting our four family members and a guest or two if it's needed. A small vase of bright, cheery flowers always rests at the center of the table, atop the pristine tablecloth.

Charles-Henri, or Papa as I call him, sits at the head of the table, and Catherine, Mama, sits across from him. To Papa's right, facing the opposite side of the table, sits Gabrielle, my younger sister.

This is how I find them when I enter the Breakfast Room through the narrow doorway. Of course I'm holding everyone back from being served their breakfast because it had taken me longer than I expected to get ready.

After taking a nice, cold bath I had dried myself off and magically dried my hair until it was shimmering and soft again, running all the way to my waist. I had slipped into my soft, light blue, silk robe and padded into the bedroom. It had taken me far longer than I had thought to decide what to wear, finally choosing a simple white dress, with short sleeves so Mama wouldn't scold me for showing _too much_ skin. After pulling my hair half-up and slipping on my shoes I go downstairs as quickly as I can, finding myself, still, late.

"Ah, there is ma petite Fleur," Papa smiles brightly as I walk in, nodding to our butler to let him know it's time to start serving. "We were beginning to wonder if we should send out a search party," he teases.

I lean in and kiss him on the cheek, taking my seat immediately after.

Mama spears some fruit from a large platter presented to her by the first footman, daintily placing each individual piece into a small bowl beside her plate. Papa is presented with a rack of still-hot toasted breads and a plate of croissants, he tells them to just leave it on the table. I reach for a piece of lightly browned bread and put it on my plate. Gabrielle reaches for her crystal glass which is filled with fruit juice. Everything is very methodical, and it's all done without a word passed between anyone.

When everyone has their choice of breakfast foods on their plate Papa begins talking about how the Minister of Magic will be paying a short visit to France in September and if he isn't going to be staying as a guest in our house he would have to at least come for dinner. He takes a long sip of his cafe au lait and then licks his lips.

Papa is the French correspondent for the Ministry of Magic. He works as a sort of ambassador when Cornelius Fudge himself can't be here, relaying news and acting as a mediator for any problems or important events taking place in France. Grandpere Delacour was a rather famous Healer who had drastically improved research on curing the common cold, something wizards still can't even accomplish. He had almost succeeded, until his best friend and research partner, Guy Montnere, was pointlessly killed by a dark wizard, at which point Grandpere decided to retire to his estate in Giverny, Chateau de Printemps Mignon. Grandmere was Marguerite Enfiere, a stay-at-home mother who adored her dogs almost as much as she adored her children.

I study Papa closely, noting how severe his eyes are behind white-blond lashes. He's pale, and his dark blond hair is combed neatly. I marvel at how he's taller than me, even sitting down, and how even though he's beginning to get older and isn't as active as he once was, he's very much in shape. I muse, thinking about how desperately he had wanted a son before Gabrielle was born. But, disappointed or not, he had accepted us girls and loved us anyway.

Breakfast is quick today, everyone finishes up what they're eating and the dishes are cleared away. After polishing off our drinks Papa announces it would be better to leave now than to wait until later in the day.

"The sooner we get to Le Jour de Chien, the better."

It takes us nearly all day to get to Le Jour De Chien in Paris from Giverny. Partly because we had to make several stops along the way for bathroom breaks and because the car Papa borrowed from the Ministry for our first footmen to drive broke down for nearly an hour along the way.

_What I wouldn't give to take a portkey_, I think to myself. But unfortunately for the us, something about portkey travel causes Gabrielle to become nauseous and she would be retching for the remainder of the day if we had decided to get to Paris that way.

"It would be easier to use a portkey," Mama had said once. "But we don't need ma petite belle to be sick before her first day of school, do we?"

So when we finally reach Le Jour de Chien at dinnertime we're exhausted, hot, tired, and starving. We immediately go to our suite and wash-up, changing into more comfortable clothes, suitable for dining, and enjoy a large, filling dinner in the bustling dining room of the inn.

As Gabrielle sips her milky tea she asks, "Fleur, will I be frightened to be so far away from home?"

"Not at all," I respond carefully. "You'll be having so much fun you won't even think about it."

Although that isn't exactly true, because during my first year I had been homesick the whole time and had cried almost every night for a month until I had made some friends. But I'm confident my sister will feel better about school life with a family member there, and I also have faith that she'll make friends far more easily than I ever could.

Thankful that the traveling of the day is over, I enjoy the last dinner I'll be having with my family until Christmastime when Gabrielle and I will go home for a short visit. I enjoy the sound of Papa spewing out the latest, most complicated political information within the Ministry, even though half the time no one understands what he's saying. I take in the smell of Mama's perfume, absorb the feeling of being with my whole family, deciding I'll miss it, just like I have every other year.

Although everyone had agreed we would be taking our baths the next day before departing for the train station, I decide to take one before going to bed. I feel grimy and hot, somewhat sticky and disgusting and greedily spend an hour or so allowing the cool water to wash away the grit and grime of the day's travels. I lather my hair in my special, lavender scented soap and watch as the tub fills up with suds.

My thoughts swirl and float around in my brain. I don't try to consciously control what I think about when I'm bathing, it allows me to relax a little. But currently, I think about school, all the girls of Beauxbatons I don't want to see, my only friend, Laure, who has a new petit ami and will be talking about him nonstop, and I think of my classes. All these things that make me feel uneasy and displeased to be returning to the south of France for my last year of school.

_I'll be graduating at the end of this year,_ I remind myself, finding it scared me even more, the thought of not being in school, as opposed to unhappily being in there.

Once I've dried myself off and put on some comfortable clothes that I'll probably sleep in later, I find all of my family has fallen asleep already. The room is drafty, even though no windows are open, and I shiver, goose bumps forming on my arms. I'll go downstairs, I decide, and get a cup of tea from the woman who works at the bar, she's always been friendly with us, especially Gabrielle and me.

I tiptoe out of the room and to the end of the dark hallway. I find my way down the several flights of narrow stairs until I'm in the nearly empty dining room. I didn't realize how long I had been in the bath, for it has gotten very late. Two men are sitting at the bar, playing a game to see who can drink more FireWhiskey and an older woman sits there as well, nursing a glass of wine.

"Can I help you?" the friendly woman at the bar says with a smile.

I sit on one of the stools, away from the two men, and ask for a cup of raspberry tea. The woman nods and within minutes the warm, sweet liquid is filling my body with a lazy, contented feeling.

"Aye, Alice, did you hear?" one of the men says to the woman behind the bar.

She looks up briefly, wiping down the wood of the bar absently, "Hear what?"

"They're think-thinking about bringing the Triwizard Tournament back," the other man replies.

"You're kidding," Alice says.

The men shake their heads, "Do- hiccup- you-you believe it?"

"Are you sure this isn't your drunken mind making things up?"

The first man looks angry, "I'm not drunk-drunken!" he shouts. "It's true, they're bringing the tournament back!"

"Where'd you hear this?" the woman, drinking her wine at the other end of the bar, demands.

"Around."

Alice shakes her head, exchanging a 'oh Lord' kind of look with me. I smile somewhat sympathetically in return.

Alice laughs, "You boys are talking out of your back ends, you're only starting foolish rumors."

The men begin arguing with her then, and then they argue with each other about who had heard it first. I finish my tea quickly, and get up from the bar. Alice waves to me as I walk out of the dining room. I ascended the stairs, fatigue beginning to fog my brain. Triwizard Tournament? I've heard of it, like I've heard of the the Battle of Waterloo. Things that have happened in the past that I just don't even acknowledge or think about. Bring it back though? Was it true? No, it was probably just as Alice had said, two drunken fools making up rumors.

_Oh, I'm so tired,_ I think as I drag myself down the dimly lit hallway and finally into our suite. I immediately crawl into the bed beside Gabrielle's, in our own separate room of the suite and almost simultaneously with my head hitting the pillow, fall fast asleep.

**Author's Note:** Forgive me if any of the little French words are wrong in anyway. One year of French doesn't really make me fluent and who knows when freetranslation is actually right! Please review and let me know what you think! Hope you liked it.


	2. Triwizard Tournament

**Chapter Two  
Triwizard Tournament**

**Author's Note:** To be on the safe side: I'm aware in the book it says Beauxbatons is a boys and girls school, but I'm making it an all girls school.

The Gare de Lyon, at 20, Boulevard Diderot, in the 12th arrondissement of Paris, is almost completely empty at four-fifteen in the morning. It has been open for at least forty-five minutes and there are trains going in and out every half hour. But we all know that if we arrive between the departures and arrivals of the muggle trains we'll avoid being spotted as anything out of the ordinary.

There are at least a dozen of my fellow Beauxbaton's students, loaded with their valises, dressed inconspicuously in muggle-clothing when we arrive at the station. Everyone has to be ready to board the school's carriages by four-thirty, which leads me to believe the rest of the school is already waiting on the cobblestone walk.

Are you ready girls? Mama asks as we finally approach the column with the large, white-faced clock at the top.

Gabrielle and I nod, and after watching me sidestep into the pillar they all follow after me.

I look up as we get our bearings together on the gray cobblestones. Just as I had suspected, everyone is already waiting to get into the carriages,saying goodbye to their parents on the quai.

You girls will be all right? Papa asks.

Of course, I replied. You don't have to worry.

Mama strokes Gabrielle's hair, Be good and listen to your sister, ma cherie, oui?Oui, I will Mama.And Fleur, she gives my cheek a tiny, affectionate pinch. You take care of your sister, and don't forget to write.

I nod, with a reassuring smile, I will.

Mama hugs each of us and so does Papa.

Suddenly a loud bell tolls and all of the other students scurry to find a carriage. I know if we don't hurry up we could be crammed into a carriage with some real unfortunates so I grab Gabrielle's hand as she waves to our parents, Au revoir Mama, au revoir Papa!

We trudge on until we finally find a free carriage, lugging our bags with us. Our carriage is white and blue, and the winged horses that will be pulling it, I can see, are growing antsy. I open the door and step into the carriage, helping my sister up after me. After we've pushed our suitcases under our seats I go to close the door but am stopped by a voice calling my name.

I look up and see my only friend from Beauxbatons, Laure Louis-Char, pushing her way through the crowd and to the carriage. Her thick, glossy red tendrils of hair are pulled back and she's dressed in skinny jeans and a black, cashmere sweater. When she finally manages to elbow her way through the crowd and to us I take her suitcase from her and then allow her to climb in.

Once we're all inside with the door closed, Laure sits across from Gabrielle and me, smiling.

I haven't seen you in ages, how are you? she says in a rush. Oh it's your first year here! You're going to have so much fun Gabrielle!

Gabrielle smiles nervously and then looks out the window, spotting our parents almost immediately.

Do you suppose we'll get the same rooms as last year? Laure asks, hardly waiting for an answer. We haven't ever before, but if we did this year I would be devastated... My room was so awfully drafty.

I smile politely, already enduring a headache from Laure's never-ending chatter, I think we'll get different rooms, just like always, I reply.

Laure nods, Do you think I could get the Rose Room? You know the suite with the sitting room and private bath?

I shrug in response, 

The carriage begins to lurch forward and we all press our faces against the windows, waving to our parents as they slowly but surely disappear behind us.

Fleur, wake up! We're here!

It's Gabrielle's excited voice that wakes me. I open my eyes and see Laure sitting in her seat, looking out the window placidly. Our bags are all lined up in front of the door, waiting to be taken for us. Gabrielle hovers over me, her smile bright and her blue eyes large and twinkling. Luckily I changed into my uniform before I fell asleep and thanks to a simple spell it is wrinkle-free. My sister and Laure are also in the same, silky blue dresses with the smooth capelets. I look around for my hat, finding it nowhere in sight.

Gabrielle hands it to me and I smile at her gratefully, and put it on my head.

I laugh at her silly, eager grin. She's practically bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, she's so excited.

There's a light, rhythmic knock at the door and Laure immediately answers it. There's a tall, dark-haired boy standing there. He's dressed in the familiar blue and white suit of the footmen who open and close the doors for us and handle our bags. He smiles as he sees Laure and her eyes grow large, like saucers at the sight of him.

He smiles and nods as she lunges forward, trapping him in a tight embrace, one in which he has no chance of being set free... It doesn't seem he wants to be let go of though, as he's encircled his thick, toned arms around her thin waist. Who is this man? I exchange a quick bewildered look with Gabrielle and wait for Laure to explain. When they begin smothering each other in passionate kisses I conclude that this must be her new petit ami.

When it seems they will never stop kissing I clear my throat and Gabrielle giggles.

Laure turns around, embarrassed, Fleur, this is mon petit ami, Jean-Pierre, she smiles proudly, holding his hand in hers. Pierre, this is my best friend Fleur.

With his free hand we shake hands and he gives me a friendly smile, Enchantee, Fleur. His eyes flick over me with that familiar look that I know all too well. I swallow, no, not Laure's petit ami!

And you, Jean-Pierre, it's so nice to match a face to the name, I look at Gabrielle. This is ma petite soeur, Gabrielle.

He shakes her tiny hand as well, and smiles, she blushes, she's smitten.

But what are you doing here Pierre? Laure asks him, the smile never once leaving her face.

His eyes linger on me for a minute longer, than he turns to her, I've come to work at Beauxbatons for the school-year, he tells her. I thought I'd take a year off between school and a real, serious job to work here and be able to see you.

Laure nearly melts into a puddle at hearing this.

So, as I am at your service, mademoiselles, I will help you out of the carriage and take your bags to your rooms.

He helps us out of the carriage, like a proper footmen and as he and Laure discreetly kiss goodbye I look up at Beauxbatons. The setting sun is forming a halo of golden-orange light to rise up from behind the castle. I'm not sure whether I'm happy to be here or very disappointed. Either way, Laure, Gabrielle and I make our way up the marble steps and through the grand front doors.

The Palace of Beauxbatons is often compared to the muggle Palace of Versailles. Although our magic school isn't nearly as large on the outside, it is almost as huge on the inside. With tapestried walls and gleaming floors, it is extremely bright and inviting. Moving portraits of famous French wizards adorn the halls, along with beautiful pictures of old, exquisite landscapes. There are enough bedrooms in the castle for everyone to have to their own large and comfortable room. Tiny dogs scamper about the palace, as if they belonged in the court of the old king. There's a beautiful, lush garden in the back, with a large, round man-made pond in the center, with a cupid fountain that changes position every hour, spouting water out of his mouth the whole while. We also have a small menagerie near the garden, filled with animals ranging from elephants to sheep.

It's a short walk to the dining chamber, and when we reach it the large, intricate doors are wide open and girls are already walking inside. We follow them and sit down at one of the two long tables set up in the chamber. The chandeliers above us are set low and the silverware is gleaming on the crisp white of the table cloth. None of the teachers are seated at their table at the front of the room, the large table that faces us, set up in front of the large, elegant painted wall that depicts a scene of angels against a cloudy, blue sky.

When all the girls have found their seats and the chamber is filled with wavering chatter, the teachers make their way in and sit down, followed closely after by our headmistress, Madame Maxime, who stands behind her large seat at the center of the table.

She seems to loom over the entirety of the room as she is so large, but she smiles at us, so the first year students aren't so afraid of her. She's dressed in robes of fine, magenta silk and have an awkward gold pattern of zebra stripes on them. Everyone quiets down and her large friendly smile makes me finally feel like it's okay to be back here, I love Madame Maxime, she's always been so kind to me. Everyone else may misunderstand her and talk about her behind her back, but I've always appreciated her and I wish everyone else would as well.

Welcome back to Beauxbatons girls, I hope the trip here was comfortable, she says and a few people snicker. I'd like to say a special bienvenue' to our girls coming here for the first time this year, I hope you find yourselves at home here.

Everyone claps politely and quietly and wait to see what she'll say next.

Before we begin to eat our wonderful dinner I would like to make a special announcement, for a brief moment I wonder if she's getting married or if there's a new teacher, and I wait with eager ears to hear what she is going to say.

Laure leans in and whispers to me, What do you think it is?I know as much as you Laure, I say in response.

Finally, to everyone's relief Madame goes on, This year, at the end of October, we will be going to the magical academy of Hogwarts, to spend the year there.

The chamber erupts in whispers, sounding like a hissing all around me. Laure begins to chatter away but I ignore her. Fleur, where's Hogwarts? Gabrielle asks me, sounding worried. I shake my head at her as I watch Madame quiet everyone down.

The reason for this, mes filles, is because Beauxbatons will be participating in the Triwizard Tournament!

The sounds around me are no longer whispers, but full-fledged speech. Everyone comments at once, asking what this means for the year. Madame tries to quiet everyone but no one will shut up. Laure prattles on and when I don't answer her she turns to the girls on her other side. I watch Madame with unblinking eyes, remembering what the men at Le Jour de Chien said at the bar last night, they were telling the truth?

Madame roars and everyone finally listens.

As she goes on to explain what the tournament is and everything that will be happening I only listen some of the time. I hear her talk about glory and admiration for whoever wins and the honor it would be, especially since this is a revival of the tournament. My brain is working furiously. If I won this tournament, would the girls here finally accept me? Would they hate me for the honor I would get in other places, places other than my looks and my family's money? Would they see that I could do something other than toss my hair and buy nice things? Could I prove myself through this tournament?

I guess we'll just have to see, non?

**Author's Note:** Chapter two, hope you liked it! Reviews are encouraging, please leave one!


	3. The Edge of Butterfly Wings

Chapter Three  
The Edge of Butterfly Wings 

Author's Note: I really appreciate the reviews. Here is chapter three! Thank you for reading. Hope you like the next chapter!

After dinner I find my room is in the east wing, facing the end of the garden and the straight, rectangular waterways that surround the school. It's spacious, with a large white, and gold canopy bed against the far wall, with tall, paned windows on either side. The carpet is plush, soft and white and the walls are covered in wallpaper of blue, white, and gold roses. It's a beautiful room and I would have enjoyed to have it for the year, but seeing as we'll be at Hogwarts I will only be in here for a two months.

It's only nine o'clock right now. Curfew is at ten thirty and I'm sure all the girls are downstairs or in one of the many sitting rooms, drawing rooms, libraries, or galleries, having fun, laughing together. I know Laure said she was going to be going to the ballroom with Marielle and Chloe because all of the seventh year girls are planning a little party that Madame agreed upon. Supposedly Laure's petit ami, Jean-Pierre, will be serving drinks for the small party and she couldn't pass up an excuse to see him.

I, on the other hand, am in my room, as no one invited me. Laure suggested I go, but considering the girl who planned the whole party, Angele, didn't invite me herself or tell anyone to invite me, I thought I'd just forget about it. I'd rather not be around people who dislike me anyway. So here I am, organizing my books and supplies according to my schedule tomorrow and hanging my uniform up so it will be ready when I awake.

All of my things have been put away prior to my even coming upstairs and it only takes me a minute to find my pajamas. I put them on and get into bed. I know it's early, but I might as well get some extra sleep for tomorrow. I wouldn't want to fall asleep in class on my first day of my last year, I think to myself dismally.

I lay here for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. As comfortably as this bed is, I can't fall asleep.

There's a knock at the door and I sit up a little, "Come in."

The door opens and Gabrielle's tiny figure appears in the doorway. She's got a shimmering pink robe on over her pajamas, she's clutching her stuffed toy polar bear that she was actually reluctant about bringing to Beauxbatons at all, and her eyes are large with fear.

"Fleur," she murmurs softly. "Can I stay in here with you tonight?"

It's not allowed but I'm sure any of the teachers would understand considering we're sisters. I nod and she comes into the room, closing the tall door softly behind her. I move over in the bed and lift the covers for her to slide under. She lays down facing me and I can see she's shaking. I smile at her and tug on her hair a little, she gives me a sad smile in return.

"I miss Mama," she whispers, clutching her polar bear tightly to her chest. "And Papa."

I smile again, "You'll feel differently tomorrow, after all your classes you'll have made a load of friends and you'll be having so much fun."

She thinks for a minute, then speaks again, still in a whisper, "Why didn't you go to that party that all those seventh year girls were talking about?"

I take in a deep breath through my nose, "It wouldn't be very fun."

"Laure was going though," she points out.

"Oui, but her _petit ami_ was there so she would have been too busy to even look at me."

Gabrielle smiles a little and nestles herself into the center of a fluffy pillow, her sparkling eyes large and glittering in the moonlight cast from my window.

"Fleur I don't want to go to Hogwarts," she says, confessing another worry currently setting a plague to her mind. "I was just getting used to the idea of being here for a year instead of home, and now we'll be at whole other school."

This sets my mind ablaze again with thoughts of the Triwizard Tournament... Should I tell her I'm thinking about entering? No, it's best to leave it to myself for now.

"It will be fine, we'll have fun there," I tell her.

She gives me a half-lived smile as if to say she hopes I'm right, and we fall silent. It's not long after that her eyes slide shut, her breathing grows rhythmic and calm, and her grip on her stuffed bear loosens. I watch her sleep for several minutes, smiling at the sound of her hushed snoring. I push a stray piece of hair behind her ear and pull the blanket up to her chin. She doesn't stir at all.

Deftly and quietly I crawl out of bed and move over to my long window that reaches down to the floor. I sit beside it and look outside, toward the moon and stars reflected in the water outside. I close my eyes, leaning back, falling asleep.

_I'm in an abbey, a few miles from Chateau de Printemps Mignon, and it's in ruins around me. Like the remains of a fire, it's smoking, blackened like charcoal, making me believe it has burned nearly to the ground. I walk across the plot through what used to be a sacred place, finding broken and ashen rock and wood under my pale, bare feet._

I make it to a lone archway, still stannding, with the door gone, leaving behind hinges and a doorhandle in the burnt ground at my feet and I look and see I'm standing on broken glass. No, not just broken glass, the remains of a shattered stained glass window. The brilliant colors flicker before me, I go to pick one up, compelled to feel it's smooth, cool surface. But before I reach it, it transforms itself into a magnificient butterfly, changing colors as it flaps it's wings upward.

I follow the butterfly as it flys away from me, through miles and miles of ashen, charred earth. Finally, it slows down, landing just on the bridge of Gabrielle's nose.

"Gabrielle!" I shout.

The butterfly turns back into it's original glass-self and cuts right through Gabrielle's whole face. A thick, deep blue liquid pours out of the oddly shaped cut. It runs slow, but has the consistency of water. I gasp. Gabrielle's body doesn't flinch, although her face is folding in on itself.

"What have you done?!" I hear my mother shriek.

I turn around and see Mama and Papa staring at me in horror.

"What have you done to the baby!"

They run over to her and are soon both covered in the blue mess, crying hysterically.

The abbey disappears and I'm standing before a crowd, on a strange platform. My hands are bound and my feet are chained. I see my parents to my right, crying, without Gabrielle. Where has she gone? I recognize several faces in the crowd as well, girls from my school, they're all girls from Beauxbatons looking up at me.

"Fleur Delacour," a familiar, booming voice resounds from the sky. "Do you plead guilty to the slaughter of your own sister?"

Mama wails, Papa shakes his head shamefully at me.

I try to say no and shake my head but I'm frozen.

The Beauxbatons girls cheer for me, clapping, they're proud of me, they want to be my friends.

"She has done it!"

"No!" I choke out. "No I haven't done anything!"

"Than who, mademoiselle, did do it?" Madame Maxime asks from her invisible post.

"The butterfly," I reply, swallowing.

The Beauxbatons girls smile, they think I'm being modest, "Fleur, tell everyone the truth!" they say.

What have I done?

The floor gives way under me and I'm suspended in midair.

"Once this is over you can come with us to the second floor library, we've taken some champagne from the kitchens."

"Fleur, you're so brave."

"Will you sit with me at dinner tomorrow Fleur?"

"Did you hear what Fleur actually did? Do you believe it?"

"Fleur! Can I borrow your barette? I'll lend you my comb!"

"Fleur!" Mama screams, her voice brazen and harsh. "How could you do this?! HOW COULD YOU!?"

I can't breathe all of a sudden, my neck feels tight, like I'm being strangled. Help!

"Fleur," it's Gabrielle's voice and I turn and see her standing there. But it isn't my little sister anymore at all, it's the open face of a skeleton, with the body of Gabrielle. "Fleur?"

I scream out, "No! Get away!"

"Fleur!"

"No!"

"Fleur!"

I awake with a start, my eyes snapping open. Gabrielle's hovering over me, her polar bear pressed to her chest, standing beside where I lay on the carpet. Her eyes are wide with concern and she's staring at me intently. I'm breathing harshly and beads of sweat have appeared on my forehead, neck, and collarbone. I look around me and swallow, finding my throat dry. The room is dark, the sun is peeking and the morning sky is filled with a pink glow that still hasn't reached my room. Birds skim the water outside, making the soft sound of nature's music in the morning.

"Are you all right?" Gabrielle asks.

I nod, rubbing my face, "I just had a bad dream."

She bites her lip, "What was it about?"

I stare at her for a moment. Her face is smooth and milky, marred only by a few freckles across her nose. Her eyes are sparkling and bright, shining blue as always. I'm glad her face is intact, as odd as that sounds, it's a relief from that dream I suffered through not long ago.

I shake my head, "I forget now." Before she can reply I say, "You should probably get to your room before everyone wakes up. I'll see you at breakfast."

She nods and silently leaves my room where I stand up, looking out the window, shivering at the horridness of a dream I can't even decode.


	4. All Sorts of Letters

**Chapter Four  
All Sorts of Letters**

Just as I predicted, Gabrielle has a whole slew of friends by the end of the first week. The group she now belongs to is a gaggle of eleven year olds who go everywhere together, giggling and whispering. Lucky her, I never belonged to such a group. The first few days of school she had a few of those friends but she still sat with Laure and me. Now though, she's left us for good, no longer feeling guilty about leaving me.

That's fine, I'm happy for her. The harms of jealousy haven't befallen her like they have me.

Normally I would be perfectly fine with her going away, practically ignoring me for friends, but Laure has been ignoring me as well now. During meals she eats quickly and spends the remainder of the time with Jean-Pierre in an empty broom closet. And I would be okay with this as well, if Gabrielle hadn't left me too. So I usually spend my meals alone.

I never realized how much I depend on either of them. Well, not so much depend on them but enjoy having someone to talk to.

Dinner seems too inbearable and torturous right now, so I go straight to my room from the west wing library where I've been studying for the past hour. When I reach my room and get inside I find a note has been slipped under my door. It reads 'Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour' on the front flap, in handwriting I don't recognize. I unfold it and read:

Chere Mademoiselle Fleur,

I hope you don't find me too bold as to say I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. I was introduced to you as Laure's petit ami, but how can I fufill that role when all my days are spent thinking of you. We've only met once but you've already turned me insane with my love for you. When Laure kisses me I imagine it's you. You've got me caught between a rock and a hard place. Save me, Fleur, I need you.

Love,  
Jean-Pierre

By the time I've finished the note I've sunken onto my bed, my hands are shaking, and a knot is forming in my stomach. I knew something would happen; Jean-Pierre had looked at me too long when we first met. And now this! Laure will be absolutely crushed!

I read the letter over again several times, growing sicker and sicker each time. By the fifth time I'm completely repulsed.

I start a fire in my fireplace and throw the note into it, watching it curl and chip away into nothingness. I watch the flames, mesmerized for several long minutes.

Suddenly, there's a quick knock at my door. I jump as Laure herself walks in. She laughs, "What's the matter with you?"

I shake my head, "Nothing."

"Jean-Pierre's busy with cooking our going away feast with the house elves so I went to find you in the dining chamber but you weren't there," she tells me. "So I figured you were here."

I nod, staying silent, feeling my stomach tighten involuntarily.

She flops down on my bed, "Can you believe we're leaving for Hogwarts in a week?"

"No," I say flatly.

"Aren't you excited?" she bubbles over.

Yes, I am, very much so, but I only shrug, "I suppose it'll be interesting."

She begins to braid her hair as I extinguish the fire, "Do you know that Angele is going to try out for the Triwizard Tournament?"

I freeze for a minute and then move to sit in a chair by the smoking fireplace, "Really?"

She nods enthusiastically, "She's bound to get in... She's so smart- and brave!"

"Oh."

"Did you know she saved her older brother's life this summer! He nearly drowned but she carried him out of the water first! Can you imagine?"

No. I don't believe it either.

I shrug.

"Wouldn't it be amazing to be able to say you're friends with someone who was in the Triwizard Tournament?" she asks, oblivious to my reaction to all of this.

I could be in the tournament. I'm ready to prove myself this way. I can just imagine the faces of the rest of the girls here if I was to actually win the tournament. They'd be so awed, so astonished I could do something so heroic, so brave. I'm not just a porcelain doll who should be watched and admired. I can do something! And Mama and Papa would be so proud of me. They'd know they hadn't raised a 'delicate' child, as they always used to call me. They'd see how strong and capable I was. I can endure it Mama, I can endure so much more than watching Gabrielle fall! They'd love me-

"Did you know Jean-Pierre's going to Hogwarts as well?" Laure breaks me out of my reverie and I move my eyes to look at her, from where they were relaxed, looking at the carpet beside the leg of my bed.

I shake my head, not blinking as I feel my stomach twist again. She beams, nodding enthusiastically as she sits up, "He's coming along! Madame Maxime can't take all our house elves with us so she's taking the footmen!"

"Won't Hogwarts have help provided for us?"

Laure's smile falters, "Even if they do, Madame is bringing him," her smile returns. "We should find you a petit ami at Hogwarts, Fleur! Even if it's only for the school year."

Oh yes, Mama would love that.

"Non, I don't think so."

"What? Do you have something against the British?" she jokes, waggling her eyebrows at me

I don't laugh, only force a smile on my lips, "Non. It's just that I don't need a petit ami, I'd rather focus on school."

She shrugs, laying on her back, staring at the ceiling, "Suit yourself."

Can I tell her that I don't want a boyfriend because all the boys I've ever even considered as a petit ami don't care about ME at all? They just think I'm a pretty face, turned on by my- I hate to say it- Veela charm. It's always fun to see how much a boy will flirt with you or what he'll do to get your attention. And always, without fail, boys notice me, but not for the things I want.

Of course I'd never be able to tell Laure that, she'd never understand. It feels like no one ever understands.

I get a letter from Mama the day after I find out about Jean-Pierre's undying love for me. Mama's letter is welcome, but upsetting. Bittersweet, as Mama's letters always are. She loves me, she truly and deep cares about both Gabrielle and me, but she believes in tough love.

The letter, in slight, but perfect slanting script, reads:

Ma petite Fleur,

I hope school is going well. Gabrielle has written to me all about her friends, they sound like nice girls. Do you know them? We should probably meet their families, I do hope they're respectable. I've spoken with Marc Toussent's mother, she says she would love to have us over for brunch, wouldn't that be lovely? Marc is such a nice boy. Did you hear his Grandpere left him his entire fortune? And Marc is absolutely smitten with you, his mother tells me.

On a more serious note, I've been thinking about this Triwizard Tournament. I don't know if I like the idea of you and Gabrielle going so far away from us. I've asked your Papa to find out more about this Hogwarts, it sounds frightful. And the weather is so unpredictable up there, I wouldn't want either of you girls getting sick. Fleur, this tournament isn't safe and I wouldn't feel right for you to be involved with it, you being there watching would be unbearable for me. I hope Madame Maxime has thoroughly thought this out.

You're watching after your sister, n'est-ce pas? Don't worry too much about her, I know how you can be very protective towards our petite Gabrielle.

Keep up with your studies, be a plesant girl, hold your temper, you know it can get out of hand, represent the Delacours well. You'll do that for your Mama, oui?

Au revoir, all my love,  
Mama

That's Mama for you. Right to the point about everything, which I suppose is where I get it from. Sometimes I'm totally open with people, I don't think about what I say or how it'll effect them, I just say it. And other times, other times I don't say anything at all. I guess I have a little of Mama and then a little of Papa's temperment in me as well.

Everyday people talk about Hogwarts and the Tournament more and more. My excitement is building with it, but my anxiety is as well. Everyone in the entire school is cheering for Angele, they all want her to win. I don't think anyone else has even considered trying out for it. Except me.

Angele IS very smart, and athletic. She plays quidditch and hunts with her brothers, her father tells her all about his adventures, he's an archaeologist for magical items and has nearly died several times. And her mother is a consultant at the Library of Documents and Pages in Paris. Can I win over her, in even getting into the competition? I'm not athletic. I'm not a genius either. I'm average in everything... Except in looks I suppose.

I haven't told anyone about my idea of entering. I don't know if anyone would support me, even Gabrielle is supporting Angele.

As the days trickle away, leaving our departure for Hogwarts nearer and nearer my insecurity about it grows. But I so yearn to prove myself. I just worry I'll end up making a fool of myself instead. I don't know what I'd do if everything backfired on me, if the girls thought I was entering for more attention than I already receive.


	5. The Broken Delicate

**Chapter Five  
The Broken Delicate**

Today is our last full day at Beauxbatons before leaving for Hogwarts. All classes have been canceled and the day has been filled with festival-like activities on the grounds. The elephants and giraffes have been tethered and the girls are allowed to ride them. Tiny, glittering silver boats have appeared in the pond and we're allowed to row across it in them. All sorts of bonbons have been provided for us, along with sweet, sugary drinks that are promised to do nothing to the figure. Songs and music are being provided by our chorus and band of wood-nymphs and at least half of the girls are singing and dancing along.

Angele is currently surrounded by an entourage of younger girls and her circle of friends, where they sit on the grass by the pond, making crowns out of flowers being currently picked by tireless house elves.

Laure suggests we go over and join them but I tell her I still have some packing to do so I'll meet with her a little later.

As she walks over to them and I walk across the lawns toward the castle I feel someone watching me. I look to my right and see a long line of footmen watching me intently as I go- Jean-Pierre isn't among them.

The palace is silent as I walk through the empty halls. The decor is so cheerful and bright, but so haunting in its calmness.

When I get to my room I move to my window, looking over the festivities outside. Even from here I can see Angele laughing loudly, her large nose pointed towards the sky, nearly failing over on Laure as they giggle. I can see Gabrielle as well, in a boat with her friends. She's standing up and the boats tips a little. I instinctively reach out towards the window, taking a slight step forward. I stop, turning around when I hear a slight shuffle by my door.

I turn and see a small, folded up note at the floor.

Jean-Pierre.

As I walk to the door, I feel the note crush under my heel. I wrench open the door and step into the hallway, Jean-Pierre is slowly retreating, his hands in his pockets.

"Jean-Pierre!" I call.

He turns around quickly, startled, when he sees me though, he smiles.

I feel the sun spilling over my hair and shoulders from the window behind me, casting my life-size shadow on the carpeted floor. Jean-Pierre walks toward me, his eyes intense, roaming over my entire body and face. I'm so used to this kind of thing, but his eyes are hungrier than I'm used to seeing. He looks almost ravenous, like he's been starving for months, and I'm some piece of meat.

"Jean-Pierre, I need to speak with you," I say, my voice shaking. Be strong Fleur, you're not delicate.

He smirks, putting his arms around my waist, "You got my note?"

"Stop it," I say, pushing him away. "You need to stop this or I'll tell Laure."

He smiles, his arms around me again, "I don't care," he nuzzles my neck.

_Who knew I raised such a delicate child_, Mama's voice echoes in my ear and I forcefully push him again, making him stumble backward a few steps.

For a moment he's shocked that he has been pushed so harshly, but when he looks up again and meets my eyes he smirks. And then, too suddenly for me to prevent it, he rushes up to me, smashing his lips against mine. I try to pull away but he's locked an arm around my neck, and the truth is, I'm just too shocked to even comprehend what's happening. He runs his calloused hands along my hips and I jerk away, but he's just too strong for me.

I try so hard to push him away, but I'm too weak, too delicate. NO!

I can't breathe, not only because his mouth is smothering mine, but because a sick, panicky feeling is rising up my throat, causing it to close. My stomach feels empty and it tingles with fear. Anxiety tickles all of my insides, prickling in the back of my brain. My eyes are wide, but his are closed. A look of such ecstasy is on his face, like forcing me down and kissing my closed mouth is a joy for him. Men and boys alike have always looked at me, ravaged me with their eyes, but no one has ever done this, no one has ever forced themselves upon me this violently.

Jean-Pierre pushes me into into my room, stepping on my toes on the way. I make another attempt to pull away from him but he pushes me onto the bed, completely covering me, crushing me altogether. _Delicate_, Mama's voice penetrates my fear, making me sad and angry, draining my strength from me. _Stop crying, mon Dieu, Fleur, what have you done now?_

"No," I say, and my voice sounds so pitiful and meek, he doesn't listen to me.

_What have you done?_

He smells like the stables, and a musky, concealed sweat. He looked so nice when I first met him, how could this be happening?

"Don't try to deny me, ma belle Fleur," he whispers in my ear, covering my mouth. "You're not pure- not with a face like that," he laughs a little.

He sounds so sinister, so frightening and evil.

He laughs again, nibbling at my ear, I jerk my head away, my eyes staring at him angrily, pleadingly, "No, Laure can't compare to you," he begins to push up my skirt and then his hands move to my shoulders and I'm shaking my head.

Musky sweat, Mama's voice, Gabrielle- she's bleeding, blue blood, angry Veela face, there's nothing for me to grab onto, but it's not my fault, I didn't mean to, I'm not delicate, I'm not.

I'm afraid he'll break me completely, take me completely, when my bedroom door opens.

He scrambles off of me, pushing me so harshly the skin on my left shoulder twists painfully, "Get away from me!" he hisses loudly, running over to where Laure stands in the doorway.

Someone gasps behind her, someone else says, "Oh, mon Dieu..."

She's seething as she steps into my room, "What is this about?"

I scramble to my feet, adjusting my skirt, I'm too shocked to speak first, I'd like for someone else to explain this situation to me, please. Jean-Pierre says, "She requested my presence, said she needed my help with some packing," he lies. "Then she sort of jumped on me."

There's a burning inside me, a rising of words that I just can't let leave my mouth.

Laure's angry, a group of girls stand behind her and I see Angele standing by her side, "Fleur, we came to keep you company while you packed, Laure told us you couldn't join the festivities because of it," she eyes my valises, already packed, waiting by my bed. "But we can see you've already finished."

Everyone snickers.

"Let's tell Madame Maxime-"

"NO!" Laure cries. "Jean-Pierre didn't do anything, I don't want him to get in trouble because of her-"

"You don't honestly believe him do you?" I say incredulously.

"You're so selfish Fleur!" she shouts. "You always need everything to yourself! You just couldn't bear to see someone choose me over you. 'Cause you're just the most beautiful girl at Beauxbatons, aren't you Fleur?" she asks menacingly.

I don't say anything in return.

Delicate.

They shake their heads, "Come on Laure, you're better off without her."

They leave my room, Jean-Pierre shamelessly groveling after them. When they're all gone I move to my door and close it, locking it behind them. I turn my back to it, sliding down the wood, crying. Delicate.

No. Things are going to be different. Fine, I won't have friends. I won't have any support at Hogwarts, but I will make it into the Triwizard Tournament, and I will win. I don't care what anyone says about me anymore, I'm going to say what I want, do what I want, and act the way I please. Fine, you all want to ignore me and have your little clique? You want to forget my side of the story? Great. Because I don't care anymore. I'm not delicate.

But I just don't have the energy to 'guard' what I say anymore, to hold my temper, to pretend like I care. I'm better than these people, I'm a Delacour. My mother did not raise a delicate child.

And I'm going to prove that to everyone.


	6. Slight Misstep at the Minister's

**Chapter Six  
Slight Misstep at the Minister's**

A light mist is falling from the gray sky as Madame Maxime peers over our heads. The sun has only been up for several minutes, and the air around us is frigid and thin. Everyone's huddled together in groups, shivering as the rest of our bags are packed into the house-sized carriage that will be taking us to Hogwarts. Instead of using individual carriages for transportation like we usually do, Madame has insisted we use one carriage, large enough to fit us all, led by twenty or so horses. Madame believes it will show our unity as a school if we show up in one carriage.

Ha!

"Quiet down!" Madame calls and we all silence ourselves. "Mes filles, we're going to a different school, in a different country, and I expect you all to properly represent Beauxbatons, and France, accordingly."

I hold my shoulders a little straighter, my chin a little higher.

"Whoever is chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, we all wish you the best of luck," everyone looks at Angele, giggling, fidgeting with excitement. "I have faith you will all be responsible and mature young ladies while we are attending Hogwarts."

She gives us all a stern look, but she smiles.

"And without further ado, let us depart."

The flight to Hogwarts is long and tiring. I sit by myself, with a book in my lap, pretending to read avidly. Focussing on the words while the carriage jostles around, though, makes me kind of nauseous, so I have to put it away and pretend to lounge in my blue and white-gold upholstered chair.

Angele and her clique are all whispering in a cluster, giggling, excited and happy. I roll my eyes as Laure and Angele look my way, tossing my hair, and opening my book again. The carriage lurches forward angrily and I nearly slip from my chair. I right myself, swiping at my skirt, "Can't these horses fly straight," I scoff.

A few people look at me, noting my snooty comment, then look away all together.

I settle myself back into my seat and wonder why this voyage is taking so long. Usually Madame Maxime's horses are fast and efficient, but today they're slow and clumsy, jerking around ridiculously. Maybe it's pulling this huge carriage that's got them so antsy.

It's late afternoon when we land. But, we're not at Hogwarts. We all look out the window, surprised to find we're sitting in a marshy field, with a massive, sagging wood and stone mansion, up a slight slope not far from us. That house looks so familiar, but whose house is it?

Madame Maxime leads us out of the carriage, not giving us any clue as to what's going on. In the distance, hurrying down the hill, is a short, tumbling man, with a tiny speck of a house elf trailing behind him.

We're standing in the soft, sinking grass, our dresses and cloaks flying around us. The sky is gray, a mass of dimensionless clouds, dreary and boring. Goose bumps rise up on my arms and scalp as a chilly, gusty wind pushes passed us. Gabrielle runs up to me, "Fleur, it's Monsieur Fudge's house!" I look up and see that she's right, it is Papa's boss's house. We've both been here before, when Papa took Mama and us on a business trip to England and Monsieur Fudge let us stay at his house. But why are we here now?

"Ah, Olympe Maxime!" Fudge spreads his arms wide and then shakes Madame's hand. "How has the trip been so far?"

Madame smiles, "Vairy well, Meester Fudge. Zhank you so vairy much for 'aving us," she says in faltering English.

The rest of the girls realize who he is, the Minister of Magic, and they begin twittering and chattering away.

He shakes his head, "Of course Madame," he looks to all of us students and asks, "And how are all you girls, all right?"

"Oui!" we all reply politely, but we're growing colder and colder by the minute.

He nods happily and then asks us all if we'd like to go inside. As it's chilly and damp out we nod vigorously and follow him and Madame up the hill and onto a stone terrace. After passing through a back door we're lead through the house and into the dining room. The girls are surprised to see the Minister's house is unimpressive. But I've been here before and I already expected it to be this way; spacious but drafty, dark and a little dreary. Honestly? Chateau de Printemps Mignon is nicer.

In the dining room a massive table is laden with a lunch for us. The food is bland and watery, thick and completely tasteless. Halfway into the meal, when I'm moving around a chunk of meat in the soupy sauce it's swimming in, Monsieur Fudge comes over to me and says hello.

All the girls watch with narrowed eyes.

"Always such a pleasure to see you Miss Fleur," he says. "And how are you today?"

I nod, "I'm vairy well, Meester Fudge," I smile politely, sure to be extra nice since he is Papa's boss. "I 'ope you are doing well also?"

"Of course, of course," his smile is large and crooked. His breath smells like the chunky meat in front of me. "Are you endderiingg fa Triwizard Tournament?" he asks.

If only the man spoke French, I knot my eyebrows, "Pardon, Meester Fudge?"

"Are you thinking of entering in the Triwizard Tournament?" he asks again, slower now.

I'm about to say that I'm not sure, but I hear a chuckle from the end of the table. I look up and see Angele and Laure looking at me, laughing. "Is somezhing funny?" I snap at them, causing them to laugh harder.

"Fleur? In zee tournament?" Angele asks. "You _are_ funny Meester Fudge!"

Anger bubbles in my stomach, "And why is zhat so funny?"

"You'd never last!" Laure replies.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "And you all zhink _Angele_ would?" I laugh, scoffing a little, "Please."

Angele juts her chin out a little, "I saved my bruzzer zhis summer, I'm more zhan-"

"That's a load of shit!" I shout, slipping into my native tongue once again. And out the window goes my temper.

"FLEUR!" Madame shrieks.

That was not smart of me. Mama would not approve of this language, and the loss of my temper.

"Forgive me, Madame," I lower my eyes.

Monsieur Fudge looks extremely uncomfortable, his eyes moving from Angele and Laure, to Madame, to me. "I don't know what I've started, "he says. "But I do apologize."

"No, Meester Fudge," I say. "Forgive me, I 'ave be'aved improperly."

He waves is hand, "No matter, let us all enjoy the rest of our meal. Excuse me Fleur," he leaves me and moves back to his seat where Madame begins apologizing to him. I feel foolish, properly scolded and hurt. But my anger is increasing at a horrific pace. I turn and see Angele staring at me. Normally I would look away, avoiding anyone staring at me, but today I defy her and stare her hard in the eye. After an eternity she pretends to look bored and rolls her eyes, looking away.

I'll show this tart what Fleur Delacour is really made of.

It's when we're back in the carriage, on to our next and last stop, Hogwarts, when Gabrielle comes up to me.

"Fleur?"

"Oui?"

She looks apprehensive, "Why did you get so angry at Angele before?"

I sigh, I'm still not sure if I should tell her about my idea to enter the Triwizard Tournament. "She said I wouldn't last in the tournament, she had no right to say it."

"Do you think you would last?"

Oh mon Dieu. Would I last? Will I be able to get through it in one piece? Will I even make it into the tournament at all? I've never saved anyone's life like Angele claims to have done. All I've done is put someone's life in danger- That's not important now. I could make it.

"I would."

She smiles a little, "I think you would too."

I smile back at her.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course."

She looks anxious and she fidgets with the hem of her uniform as I wait for her to ask me whatever is on her mind. She doesn't look at me, won't even glance in my direction and nibbles on her bottom lip. I get a little nervous, she's never been this anxious to ask me something before. Is she in trouble? Does she need my help?

Finally, she speaks, "Fleur, I've heard the other girls talking..." she trails off. I just stare at her, waiting for her to continue.

Anger boils inside me, not anger towards her, but anger towards the girls who are filling my baby sister's head with nonsense.

When she realizes I'm not going to say anything, she continues, "Is it true you stole Laure's petit ami away from her?"

I feel my shoulders sag, and I straighten them immediately. My heart feels deflated and my throat burns. I should have expected the misconception of what happened with Jean-Pierre would reach Gabrielle's ears. I only wish it hadn't. I long to tell her the truth... But how could I reveal the fact that I was weak? That Jean-Pierre was able to overpower me and almost take me over completely? How could I possibly tell her that? But I can't let her go on thinking I've committed the most unforgivable and horrific act of disloyalty to Laure.

"No," I say, "He wanted to kiss me and to forget about Laure... And I tried to make him leave me alone but Laure misunderstood what she saw."

She nods, "I think I understand now."

"Please Gabrielle," I plead of her. "Don't ever be afraid to talk to me or ask me something, all right?"

She smiles, "Merci Fleur." She pauses. "Can I sit with you for the rest of the trip?"

"Don't you want to sit with your friends?"

She shakes her head, "I miss you."

I smile, moving my cloak from the chair beside me. She sits down and begins to chatter away. She begins to tell me about her new friends, four little girls who don't sound too horrible. She bubbles over with stories of mischief in classes, amusing inside jokes, narrow escapes from under teachers' noses, and a frightening but funny story about how she and her friends got lost one night, scaring themselves but laughing the whole time.

As she talks and talks, I listen intently, and we laugh together, I realize how much I've missed talking to her and seeing her bright, angelic face as she chatters and giggles. It seems to me as if she won't stop talking, like she has so much she has to tell me but there isn't enough time in the world. But I don't mind, I love to hear about her new life at school, I love to have someone, especially Gabrielle, to talk to.

It appears to me she hardly misses home, which is probably better since we are going to be farther from it than previously. Although Mama was intent on having us stay in France, especially Gabrielle. But finally, Papa assured her he would use his Ministry connections to ensure our safety throughout the whole experience.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

It's finally after what seems like only a few minutes of Gabrielle and I talking that I feel the carriage begin to descend. Madame Maxime stands up and we all look at her.

"Mes filles," she says. "Bienvenue, to Hogwarts."


	7. The Goblet of Fire

**Chapter Seven  
The Goblet of Fire**

**Author's Note:** From now on parts of the books and movies will be incorporated into the story. So you'll notice some familiar lines and whatnot. I'll be keeping it as original as possible. Enjoy.

Hogwarts is, quite disappointingly, rather boring. Although big, it's not nearly as big as the Palace of Beauxbatons. And from here, where we stand on the grounds, being ogled at by the students, I can see it's terribly is old. It seems dark and musty though, even from outside in the cool fresh air. The students look somehow uninteresting and bland, curious and gaping. We look at them in return, but not so curiously, more like disapprovingly.

"Madame Maxime! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

My head jerks upward and I see a tall man making his way through the throng of children. He's got long silver-white hair and a full beard to match. His robes seem to have millions of layers and they're all shades of gray and silver, with a shiny, beaded hem on the sleeves. There's a funny, loping cap sitting atop his head and half-moon glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Professor Dumbly-dore!" Madame smiles brightly.

This must be the headmaster.

"How was your journey?" he asks.

"It went vairy well, zhank you," she smiles. "I 'ope you are well?"

He nods, "Would you and your students like to go inside or wait for Durmstrang to arrive out here?"

She looks at us, all shivering, "Inside, I zhink."

The headmaster gestures for us to walk up some dreary stone steps. When we're all inside Madame tells us we may sit where we like. We stand around for a few minutes, unsure of which of the four tables to choose from. Angele is the first to move forward to sit at the table where the students sitting there are wearing dark and light blue ties instead of the other colors the other tables are wearing. Everyone follows her, unsure of what else we should do.

This room, although equipped with thousands of candles floating above our heads and torches lining the walls, feels dark. I'm shivering from head to toe, not only because I'm still a little cold, also because I feel a little anxious and anxiety has always brought on chills up and down my spine. I decide to keep on my cape, hat, and muffler not only for warmth, but for comfort as well.

Gabrielle is sitting beside me, looking around curiously, chattering away with her friends who have decided to sit with us as well. I look around too, perhaps not as excitedly or obviously, but I am curious just the same.

The room is massive, and the ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky outside. Impressive, but must it be so cold? A feel a nervousness so strong that it's biting at my insides and I feel homesick all of a sudden. I want Beauxbatons, I want warmth, and familiarity. I want to know the faces around me and the place I'm in. Oh- Gabrielle and I should have just gone home for the year instead of coming here, to this- awful- Hogwarts.

Suddenly, without warning it seems, a group of boys dressed in thick fur coats plow into the hall, with a tall, dark-haired man with a menacing air about him. They sit at another table, smiling, impressed with the dreary hall, amazed at the silverware in front of them. If they think this is nice I'd like to see them in the Palace of Beauxbatons- well, noting their different dress from the Hogwarts students, they must be the Durmstrang boys.

Madame and the menacing man- Madame's mentioned him, Karkaroff- sit at the table along with all the Hogwarts teachers at the front of the room. Dumbledore, who is seeming more and more like a child to me with every passing minute, walks to the front of the room, a smile playing on his face. I look around the hall and see more students have filled the tables and it's very crowded and noisy in here. Everything feels very out of place, disoriented, in whole, disorganized. I'm not sure if I'll like being here.

Dumbledore begins to speak, his voice booming over us without aid of his wand, "Good evening everyone, and a special welcome to our guests," he smiles at us girls and then at the Durmstrang boys. "I am very pleased to be welcoming you to Hogwarts tonight and I have great faith that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable," he glances at the table where we're all shivering.

A let a little snort of a laugh escape my throat, he's joking right?

A few- Hogwartians- look at me, annoyed. He wasn't joking? I just thought that with us freezing here and him talking about comfort- oh mon Dieu, he wasn't joking. I press my lips together and shut up.

He continues on, having not heard me, "The Triwizard Tournament will officially begin tonight- but first, let us eat, drink, and enjoy ourselves. And please, make yourselves at home!"

Heaps of food appear before us atop platters and in bowls. Such varying smells linger together, penetrating my senses before I can prevent it. I feel like I'm about to gag for a minute, but I swallow down this sensation and look down the table. I see Angele happily acclimating to this environment, spooning some sort of pie into her mouth as she talks avidly with Laure and a very pretty Asian girl.

I quickly lick my lips, determined to prove myself worthy in this situation. I can thrive here. I'm not delicate, I can prove myself. I can make the best out of any situation, particularly this one. I don't need Laure as a friend to help me through this different setting, I don't need anyone. I _will_ make the best of it.

And so, with extreme determination, I remove my muffler, my cape, and my hat and place them all in the empty space beside me on the bench. As I'm doing this a familiar scent reaches my nose. I sniff the air discreetly and crane my neck a little, looking around. And then I spot it. Familiarity sitting in a bowl, at the table with students where gold and scarlet ties.

Bouillabaisse.

A smile curves itself onto my lips and I stand, feeling empowered and strong. Angele and Laure watch me, curiosity and hatred filling their gazes, as I walk toward the familiar. My steps are light, tapping softly against the stone floor, but filled with purpose as I reach the table.

"Excuse me," I say, wondering if my voice really just cracked or if it was my imagination. "Are you wanting any of ze bouillabaisse?"

Several faces turn and look up at me, and I gaze charmingly back at them. But the two boys I was talking to look distracted somehow. A red-haired one looks like he can't breathe as he stares up at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. A girl, with bushy brown hair sort of glares at me, much like many of the girls at my school glare at me.

Finally, a black-haired boy responds, "Yeah, it's all yours."

"Oui?" I smile, looking at them curiously.

The boy nods, and I notice the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. I'm in awe for a moment, but I don't let it show. I reach past him and grab the bowl turning on my heel.

Over my shoulder I call, "Merci."

With just as much fortitude I return to the table where Laure and Angele are still watching me. Carrying the bowl in my hands I move gracefully, feeling my hair swish and cascade around me. Eyes follow me, eyes taking in my whole appearance. The air of the Veela in my family is present around me now as I walk. I'm not exactly proud of it, but I'm not trying to suppress it either.

When I return to the table I spoon some bouillabaisse onto my plate and eat it slowly, enjoying every bite of it. A girl from my Advanced Transfiguration class asks if she can have some, I graciously oblige. Soon, the majority of the girls from Beauxbatons are eating some of the bouillabaisse or asking some of the other students for any familiar delicacies at their tables. Laure and Angele, of course, are enjoying some true Hogwarts dishes. I make eye contact with Angele at one point and shoot her a pleasant smile, she turns away and takes a gulp of pumpkin juice, dribbling some down her chin.

I have won this battle.

Finally, when our plates have been cleared and the lights dimmed just a little Dumbledore stands before us again and spreads his arms wide.

"The moment has come," he smiles, lowering his arms. "But before we truly begin the Triwizard Tournament I'd like to explain how things will be going this year. But first, allow me to introduce Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation."

I clap politely. Gabrielle and I both know Monsieur Crouch, he often visits us when he must attend meetings with Papa. His tight, little mustache twitches a little as he stands, his slicked and parted gray hair shining in the lights of the hall.

Dumbledore continues, "And Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

This man I have never seen before. He waves to the audience a little, smiling as he does so. He's tall and a little round about the middle, with broad shoulders and thick legs. Blonde hair sits nicely atop his head and makes his pink cheeks seem even rosier.

"For the past several months Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked endlessly to ensure all the arrangements concerning this tournament run smoothly. As such they will be joining Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and myself on the panel of judges for the tournament this year."

With a quick jerk he swipes a long, black cloth from over a medium-sized wooden cup, set up on a podium at the front of the room. He taps it twice with his wand and suddenly bright blue-white flames shoot up from it, wavering along the brim of the cup.

"The Goblet of Fire!" Dumbledore shouts suddenly, and I jump a little. "This will be choosing three champions to participate in the Triwizard Tournament."

A cup?

He barrels on, "Anyone who wishes to take part as a champion in this tournament must write their name and school upon a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet, you will be given twenty-four hours to do this if you wish to be considered for the tournament."

How might I go about putting my name in the goblet without anyone seeing me?

"No underage students will be permitted to enter the tournament, an Age Line will be drawn around the goblet to ensure this," he says.

I feel my heartbeat quicken involuntarily. It's really happening. I'm here, at Hogwarts. A part of the Triwizard Tournament, even if it's just in witnessing the rebirth of it.

Dumbledore stares at the goblet, and the flames dancing from within it. Then he turns back to us and begins speaking again, "There will three tasks for the chosen champions, these tasks will be spaced throughout the year and they will test the champions in many ways... their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and of course, their ability to cope with danger."

Danger.

The word echoes in my head and I feel my heart jump into my throat, thumping loudly in my ears.

"I would like to press upon you the weight of this tournament, do not tread into this lightly, students," he looks over us heavily. "If you are chosen you are magically bound to see your responsibilities through to the end. Please, before you drop your name into the goblet make sure you are absolutely prepared to play."

Oh, mon Dieu! Can I do this? Am I putting myself into a situation I'm not prepared to deal with? I glance up the table, toward Angele and Laure. Angele is beaming, as if Dumbledore is speaking directly to her, as if he's pointing out the things she'll be able to prove herself in.

Hot anger burns in the back of my throat and want to hit someone. Watch your temper Fleur, watch your temper.

I'm not delicate, Mama.

I will prove myself to everyone.


	8. Tour de Terreur

**Chapter Eight  
Tour de Terreur**

We have been provided our own tower in Hogwarts. It is one of many empty towers throughout the castle, fitted as dormitories for us with a small six person bathroom at the bottom of a winding, slightly spiraling staircase. I will avoid having to use the toilet for any reason in the middle of the night, for in order to get to the bathroom you have to leave the small, crowded dormitory, through a tiny, ill-fitted common room and then down the staircase, out into one of the public hallways and finally, into the bathroom.

Merci, mais non.

It was only several minutes after Dumbledore finished speaking that Angele stood up and walked over to the Goblet of Fire, placing a small, folded slip of paper into the flames. They hissed a little, sputtered, and then resumed their normal flickering and wavering. Angele walked back to the table with arrogance and a very show-offy manner.

Only a dozen or so people in the whole hall placed their names in the Goblet, making me wonder if everyone else had the same idea as me, to do it in secret.

After we sat in the hall, talking with the Hogwarts students sitting at our table, Ravenclaws, they're called, Dumbledore himself showed us to our nameless tower. When he has left Madame sits us all down in the common room area and gives us a small lecture in the native tongue I had grown to miss within the course of the day.

"Ecoutez, mes filles," she quiets us down and we all look at her patiently. "It's very clear that Hogwarts is different from the Palace of Beauxbatons."

I nudge Gabrielle, as if to say, 'No kidding!' and she grins up at me.

Madame continues, "But Dumbledore has been gracious enough to welcome us here and I'd like you to be polite in living here and acting as if everything is more than perfect."

We all know she's subtly acknowledging the fact that it's horrible here compared to Beauxbatons. It's cold and drafty, dark and dreary and everything is so different and altogether unpleasant. But she wants us to be polite and respectful. Will any of us follow through? Yes, we'll try. But no one can promise that it will happen.

When she dismisses us we all go into the dormitory, choosing our beds. I'm actually very surprised to find there are enough for everyone, but as we're used to having our own rooms, we know this is not going to be a pleasant experience.

Before anyone can choose the best beds I flounce down the aisle between the rows and choose the bed beside a medium-sized window. Gabrielle chooses the bed beside me and her friends claim the beds after hers. I see Angele and Laure, stopped in their tracks. They wanted the beds by the window. They make a great show of deciding on the two beds closest to the door, saying it'll be much warmer over there.

I laugh a little as I locate my valises and set about to making my space my own.

I have won the second battle.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

In a random bout of school unity Marguerite Guicharde suggested we tell ghost stories before going to bed and the rest of the girls agreed. After dressing in our pajamas we all sat on the edge of our beds and listened to each other, relaying the scariest stories we know in the near dark. There was something even more frightening about the stories, now that we were in Hogwarts. The castle doesn't seem half as friendly as our own and monsters seem to be lurking in every corner.

"I have a story," Angele had declared, standing up with her hands on her hips.

Something about the way she said it made me feel uneasy, she also smirked in my direction when she spoke.

"Go on then, Angie," Laure encouraged her.

Angie? She's given her a nickname?

Angele dropped her voice and her face went serious, "I told some of you the story of how my brother almost drowned."

I felt myself rolling my eyes and scoffing, "Oui, and we all know the story of how you heroically saved him from drowning in the pond," I crossed my arms. "Hardly a scary story."

A few girls looked at me curiously, wondering what had gotten into the quiet little Fleur.

"It wasn't a pond," Angele responded icily. "It was in the ocean, on holiday."

I gave a little snort, "Well, that makes it all the more believable."

"Just- let's hear the story Angele," Laure cut in, not looking at me.

Angele gave me one last smirk before she started on with her story, "My brother, Matthieu, and I were walking along the beach after dark, looking for the jellyfish that lie on the beach and glow," she said, her voice low and forcefully eerie. "And in the distance we saw a girl walking toward us, alone."

The girls looked on, silent, waiting, their eyes wide and curious. Even Gabrielle was already rapt in the story.

"She was beautiful," Angele continued. "We knew that before we actually saw her," she whispered. "With a creamy, almost-glowing, heart-shaped face... Sort of- as if her skin had been made from the moon."

I had stared at Angele as she spoke, afraid of what she would say next. Not because I thought the story would be a frightening one, but because I had an idea of where she was going with it.

"And her hair was gold, almost white, shining brilliant, and flowing behind her in the wind," she said, everyone around her was hushed and she relished the attention we were all giving her. "When she came to us we saw she had the most bright blue eyes I have ever seen, sparkling even in the dark."

I felt a few eyes turn in my direction, recognizing the same description in me.

"She spoke to Matthieu," she went on. "This girl, who neither of us knew," she looked around, taking in everyone's awed expressions. "And the second he saw all of her, listened to her voice, it was as if he was in a trance, they acted as if I didn't exist at all."

"Doesn't sound very scary," I muttered under my breath, but no one heard me.

She took a deep breath and then walked forward a little, continuing her little show, "I walked away slowly, feeling as if I should let my brother enjoy this girl's company, they seemed to like each other," a few girls giggled. "But then as I was walking across the dunes I heard her begin to sing."

Sing? oh brother.

"And I turned, watching her, singing to my brother, leading him toward the water," she whispers. "It was when he was up to his waist that her singing turned into wailing."

I didn't believe any of it for a minute.

She shook her head, "A horrible, animalistic wailing," she said. "I covered my ears and watched, knowing something was wrong, too confused what to do about it."

I gave a snort, but no one turned to look at me, no one said anything, they were much to wrapped up in Angele's story. But she did look at me, she smirked and continued.

"My brother went all the way under before I jumped into the waves and pulled him out onto the beach... He was barely breathing, and the wailing had ceased. But now, the beautiful girl had turned into a monstrous creature, with wings of rigid feathers and the face and teeth of a wolf!" she shouted, a few girls jumped.

I had noticed Gabrielle had looked away from Angele, focusing on her sheets, looking sick and upset. I knew why, she had decoded Angele's story before the punch line was given.

"What was it Angele?" a younger girl asked, her eyes wide with wonder. "What kind of creature was the girl really?"

Angele looked me square in the eye when she replied, "A veela!"

A few girls gasped, some looked my way.

I felt like screaming, like crying and hiding away. I wanted to tear the hair out of Angele's scalp and ring her neck, burn her up and scratch out her eyes, all at once.

Only a few people at Beauxbatons knew what I really was, or somewhat was. Laure, being my best friend knew I was a quarter veela, some girls suspected it, but no one else really knew for sure. It wasn't something I flaunted around, not something I was particularly proud of in all its aspects. Would you like to admit you're a quarter non-human? A quarter of a creature that throws fire and turns into a half-bird when she gets angry?

I had no doubt in my mind that Laure was the one who had told Angele that I was a quarter veela.

I hated her for it.

"A veela?" another younger girl squeaked.

"Oui! The most horrid, cruel-"

"Angele!" Laure cut in. "Maybe you shouldn't-"

"Quoi? I'm just telling a story," she replied innocently.

No one said anything else.

So Angele continued, "The girl had glowing red eyes now, and she chased after me, trying to bite me, trying to slash at me, to kill me! Then, she began breathing fire as she ran-"

"Breathing fire?" I cried out, standing up.

"Oui? She was."

I stared Angele hard in the eyes and shook my head, as if I pitied her for making up such nonsensical lies.

I laughed a little, "Come on Angele, we all know that veelas aren't really like that-"

"Oh, really?" she interrupted me. "Why don't you tell us how veelas really are Fleur, you should know, n'est-ce pas?"

"Angele!" Laure cried.

I smiled graciously, "Since I'm so well-informed, I think I shall tell you about veelas."

Gabrielle watched me, confused and frightened, waiting for me to go on.

I cleared my throat and said, "Veelas are the most beautiful, enchanting, and carefree beings you will ever meet," I told them. "They're dancers. Beautiful, radiant and mesmerizing dancers."

"You've seen them, then?"

"Seen them? Mais bien sur!" I laughed. "Gracious and welcoming, but only to those worthy," I smirked at Angele. "They'll help you forget about any trouble, just by inviting you to dance-"

Angele cut in, noting the girls' interest in these magnificent creatures, "But they're not human! They live in the woods!"

I nod, "Yes, in the deepest of woods, around ponds and among the wildflowers! They prefer it this way, to be hidden, left alone, to enjoy their beauty and grace and their dancing and singing-"

"To lure men to their death!"

"To entertain the fairies and the plants and the animals and anyone who may be passing!"

Sure, I was stretching the truth a bit. Yes, veelas loved to have their privacy in the woods, I know my grandmother hardly ventured from them, not after grandfather had died, but veelas liked much more to show off their beauty and talents. But why make them seem vain and the slightest bit arrogant. And besides, Gabrielle's smile had returned, so I felt my fibbing was justified.

"Oh really? And how do you know so much about them Fleur?"

I put an amused look on my face, a look to say, 'You don't know?'

"Because my grandmere is a veela!"

There was silence for a few longs seconds and then a hundred questions burst out at me about what the veela were like, could they meet them, could we dance for them, did we know any famous veelas, things of that sort. Angele looked just about ready to pull my hair out, so I fed the flames of her anger.

"I have a story to tell," I announced. And without waiting for anyone to say anything I marched forward a little, to the center of the room, with my hands on my hips, and I began to speak, "There once was a girl, a girl who was hardly pretty and slightly annoying."

After the few giggles subsided I felt myself growing more and more empowered.

I continued, "Despite her lack of beauty and tact, she craved attention of any kind," Angele narrowed her eyes at me. "She'd do anything for that attention," I said. "Even if that meant lying and possibly, in the future, cheating... You know this story, don't you Angele?"

She clenched her teeth, "No, I don't."

"Oh, that's too bad. Did you know it's a true story?"

She didn't respond.

The rest of the girls in the room seemed confused, except Laure, who watched us eyeing each other maliciously.

"The girl thought she was going to win a great big tournament," I said. "Thought all the girls would want to be her, and all the boys would love her."

Angele was seething at that point.

I smiled a little at her, "Isn't that what you think Angele? Isn't that why you want to be in the Triwizard Tournament?" I raised my eyebrows. "You're a lot like the girl in the story!"

"Fleur Delacour!" she screamed in blind rage, marching up to me. "If you think I'm going to allow you to speak to me this way without my slapping you across the face then you have another thing coming to you-"

"No! Angele!" Laure grabbed Angele's wrist, just as she was about to hit me. At the same time Gabrielle yelled, "Fleur!"

I laughed, as if I couldn't believe her, "Why are so angry you Angele? Can't take the truth?"

A brawl erupted.

Angele lunged at me and several girls rushed to hold her back. I was waiting for her to break free of them, to hit me or pull my hair or something for me to be able to fight back, for me to able to hit her in turn. She did break free, but only enough to push me backwards, into the crowd of girls standing around behind me. My hair fell out of it's tie a bit, my eyes blazing as I pushed her back.

Before I knew it, Madame Maxime stood between us, pushing us both away with her massive hands. She had been shouting for five minutes before that, telling us to stop, asking us what the meaning of this was about, what had gotten into us? I had been in such a blinding fury, set on pushing Angele to the floor, so I could stomp her face in, that I hadn't even heard Madame until she stood between us.

"What is going on here?" she demanded, her dressing gown rumpled as if she had put it on in a hurry, her hair untidy and kept back in a sort of scarf. "I wake up to the sound of shouting and I find this!"

Laure and I stared at each other, still wanting to afflict pain in some way on the other party.

"Well?" Madame barked. "What have you to say for yourselves?"

I came to my senses somewhat, shaking my head, "I'm sorry Madame- an argument got out of hand."

She looked incredulous, Angele was silent.

"An argument? Filles, we are guests here, we are here to learn about magical cooperation and how to work against one another while working together for a greater purpose!" she sounded flustered and her words hardly made sense. "Now if our school can't work together how can we work with three others?"

We were silent, calming down.

Madame took a breath, straightening her robe out a little, "Can I trust you girls to sleep in the same dormitory tonight?"

We did not respond to this either.

"Very well, Angele, vas avec moi," and she led the way out of the room.

Our third battle has ended in a tie.

So Angele has ended up sleeping in Madame's private chamber tonight. There are worse punishments she could have faced. I, on the other hand, am going to bed a free girl. I know it's horrible and Mama would disapprove, but I don't feel any guilt for being without punishment.

In any case, I've given our tower the appropriate name, Tour de Terreur.

**Author's Note:** Reviewing is always appreciated. I'd love to know what you think!


	9. Viktor Krum

**Chapter Nine  
Viktor Krum**

The dormitory is silent and almost completely dark when I slowly and quietly get out of bed. I shiver as I change into some suitable clothing, nothing fancy or important, just some soft, black pants and a sweater. I slip into my fur-lined boots and comb my fingers through my hair. It's not like I'm going to meet anyone at the Goblet at nearly three o'clock in the morning.

I follow the open pathway to the door, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight, and make my way to the door. I open it soundlessly and make my way past Madame's room and then through our common room, and, finally, out into the open halls.

I stand in the cold darkness for several minutes.

Where do I go?

I swallow, trying to push all those ghost stories from tonight out of my head. Even Angele's false-veela is frightening me in this dark, empty corridor. I look around, hoping for a clue that can direct me to the hall in which the Goblet rests. Finally, I recognize a portrait of a pale little girl picking flowers and I turn right.

Thanks to a few more helpful clues I only get lost twice. I did let out a little shriek when the staircases moved, something I had been warned about, but had forgotten. Finally though, I arrive before the hall, pushing the doors open with a low groan from the hinges. I stand in the doorway, staring at it.

The room is filled with an eerie bluish light, as it is lit up only by the Goblet's flames. It stands there, as if it is waiting for me, like it's been expecting me all along. I watch it for a few seconds, staring as the flames flicker and wave at me. I swallow, moving forward, stepping into the rays of the blue light.

My footsteps are the only sound present in the hall as I walk across the floor. I hear the soft thud of my boots against the stone echo back to me as I go, clutching the parchment in my hand, the parchment with my name and school on it. My breathing is different, labored and short, my heartbeat loud and irregular as well. I stop a few feet away from the Goblet, anxious and shaking. There is a friendly air about it, as strange as it sounds, but it does seem to welcome me to it. But at the same time I wonder if it is a trap, a false front to trick me.

I move closer toward it, waiting for some sign to warn me or invite me further.

I receive nothing.

After a second or two I reach up, ready to drop the paper into the flames, but I still my hand, leaving it hanging in the air, the paper still pinched between my fingers.

This is the last moment I have to decide against this. I could turn around right now, rip up the paper with my name on it and go back to bed, to my nice safe bed. But now, then I would be allowing Angele to receive all the glory, all the strength, everything that comes with being in the tournament. I have to at least try... But Dumbledore said this isn't to be taken lightly.

I watch the paper, shadows dancing across it from the light of the flames. I do not know what to do.

"You know, the paper vill not jump in there itself."

I spin around, my heart speeding up even more, my eyes wide, the hand holding the paper clutched in a fist at my heart. Standing in the doorway of the hall is a tall, thin boy. He has dark hair, and even from here I can see he has a large, sort of crooked nose. Judging from his accent, and the fact that he is wearing a thin, long-sleeved shirt and pants, looking perfectly comfortable in the freezing hall, I'd say he's from Durmstrang.

His words were not joking, they were sort of angry and impatient.

I put my hands on my hips, recovering quickly, "Oui, zhank you, mais I know zhat!"

He shrugs, walking up to me completely.

"Vhy don't you just put it in if you vant to enter?" he says, gesturing toward the Goblet.

"I-I was zheenking," I say quickly. "Eet is a big deal, you know."

He shrugs again.

"Were you in 'ere to enter, monsieur..."

"Krum. Viktor Krum," he says, gazing at the Goblet. "And no, I already put my name in. I vas just thinking as vell."

I look at him, silent.

"Vere you thinking about vhether or not you'd like to enter?" he suggests.

I shake my head, "Not at all, only zheenking of 'ow ze Goblet will determine ze winner," I lie.

He nods, oblivious, "Do you mind if vee think together?"

I nod in agreement, we walk a few steps away from the Goblet, toward a bench resting against the wall. When we sit down there's a short silence before either of us says anything.

"Vhat is your name?"

"Fleur Delacour," I tell him.

He nods, "Are you frightened of the tournament?"

I look at him, into his dark, dark eyes and see pure sincerity there and my front falls away. I nod.

"I am, as vell," he admits. "I vouldn't tell anyone else that, but this isn't like quidditch-"

"Quidditch?"

He nods, "I play quidditch, professionally."

Oh yes! Of course! I knew he was familiar. Viktor Krum, famous seeker for the Bulgarian team.

"Oh yes," I reply. "Zhis is very different zhan quidditch."

We laugh together, the sound bounces around and then back to our ears.

"But you want to do it, don't you?" I ask him.

He nods, "I'm not just good at sport, I am smart too, and brave," he says. "I vant to prove that to people."

"Hm, I-uh- I am entering for ze same reason," I say. "To prove myself, I am not only jolie, but I am brave and intelligent aussi!"

He smiles, staring at me, "You are veela, no?"

I am taken aback, "'ow did you..." I should be offended. "'ow dare you!"

"It is only that you are very beautiful," he says, his face serious and unassuming. "I did not mean to offend."

I calm down, "Eet is all right, I just- people only see me, zhey never listen to me."

He gives me a small smile, "Veelas, they dance for our games, I am longer being affected by them," he tells me. "You are beautiful, but nice as vell."

"Merci- zhank you."

"I hear vhat you are saying," he says. "I vant to listen."

I smile genuinely now, "Zhank you vairy much, Viktor."

"Perhaps vee should go now, it is late."

I nod and we stand up, heading toward the doors of the hall.

"Vait," he stops me. "Aren't you going to enter your name?"

Oh yes.

I nod, walking slowly over to the Goblet. And with one, final, swift movement, I drop my name over the flames, and it gets sucked into them like a vacuum. I turn back to Viktor and we leave the hall. Everything is final now. With Viktor's help I locate Tour de Terreur and he leaves me to find his tower. Before he walks away I tell him thank you once more and he smiles, saying he will see me tomorrow.

I'm not sure, but I think I have actually made a friend.


	10. Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Champion

**Chapter Ten  
Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons Champion**

The champions are to be chosen today.

I woke up with a knot in my stomach and stared out the large window beside my bed for some time. I heard all the girls waking up and getting ready for breakfast, but I didn't move. Gabrielle came over to my bed as everyone was leaving and tried to coax me into going downstairs. I only moaned and pretended I was exhausted, too tired to even open my eyes.

When the room was finally empty though, I sat up in bed and hugged my knees to my chest.

So many thoughts and questions ran through my head.

What if I didn't get into the tournament? What if Angele did?

I would have no other way to prove myself to everyone.

What if I get hurt?

Dumbledore did say it was not to be taken lightly.

Oh it can't be that dangerous. They wouldn't put students into a position where they could be fatally wounded.

Would they?

And this is where I am now, sitting on my bed, shaking, thinking too many thoughts for my own head.

A menacing wind whistles through the rafters of the Tour de Terreur. The room is drafty and a constant chill surrounds it. I wrap my blanket around me and stare out the window, across the large, black lake that sits outside. The sun shines across it, glinting against the surface, making it glitter. But light gray clouds are approaching, with darker ones in the distance.

I wonder how cold the water of the lake is right now. How deep is it?

My stomach rumbles, but at the same time I feel sick. My nerves are standing on end and goosebumps have risen all over me. With teeth chattering and limbs trembling, I take my clothes for the day, my blue silk skirt, matching blazer, tights, and satin shoes, to the empty bathroom and take a hot bath. Since the tub is of an inanely small size, I make my bath quick and dry myself off within minutes. When my hair is dry I put it back into a low ponytail and slip into my uniform.

I start towards the common room, but I stop and retrieve my capelet before returning down the stairs.

The hallways outside of our little tower are empty and quiet. My footsteps echo all around me and I shiver, watching my back every few minutes. I feel as if monsters could jump out at me at any turn. It's foolish, obviously, nothing is going to jump out and kill me, but still... The castle is very menacing in it's own right.

I feel so alone and solemn as I walk the unfamiliar halls. Is anyone out of the Great Hall other than me? That seems highly unlikely. Pushing onward, I fear that I'm lost. I'm sure I passed that portrait of the little girl running just a moment ago. But- wait- She's running through all the portraits, following me. Mon Dieu. Would a map even help me in this useless maze of a school? I begin to feel happy that I'm on my own right now. If anyone were to walk down the corridor they'd see me and somehow notice I'm lost, and then they'd feel like they had to help me. I don't need help, I just need some time to figure it out.

I bask in my solitude, actually smiling to myself in my state of lonliness. When I reach the end of another long hall though, I'm startled so horribly that my heart nearly jumps out of my chest and I shriek. Standing before me is a tall man, dressed in a doublet and tights, his hair a little wild and his eyes confused. He's suspended in air, floating. Shimmery and white I know right away that he's a ghost.

"Fogive me, young madame!" he says jovially, even though my eyes are wide and a shaking hand is pressed to my frantic heart. "I didn't mean to frighrighten you."

Breathing a little raggedly I say, "Pardon?"

"Frighten you," he says slowly, noting my accent. "I did not mean to do it and I apologize."

"Oh," I give him a weak smile. There is nothing at all scary about the man, it's just that I was so sure I was alone in the halls that I didn't expect to see anyone at all. Especially not a ghost. I say, "Eet is fine, monsieur, I did not eexpect to see anyone."

He nods, giving me a friendly smile, "You are one of the students from France, for the tournament," he states. "Perhaps you harregoigngtopariticiephate?"

I try to distinguish his words and take a guess at what he's saying.

Shrugging, I reply, "Per'aps."

"That's the spirit!"

I smile at him politely.

Nodding at me he begins to drift away, "Good day to you young mademoiselle, and bon chance!"

&

After having spent the majority of the day walking along the giant lake outside and being driven inside by a sudden downpour, I now sit in the Great Hall alongside the other girls, expectant and nervous. After arriving back inside this afternoon I was surprised to find all the Beauxbatons girls seated at an empty table in the Great Hall, listening to Madame speak to all of them.

When I entered the hall, feeling like I should have known about this meeting, Madame beckoned me over.

"Here you are Fleur," she said. "I was just telling everyone how your schedules for your classes here at Hogwarts will be waiting on your bed upon your return to the tower."

I nodded.

She continued, "Mes filles, I know it will be hard to study in a different language, but the professors understand, and there are students assigned who will tutor you and help you as best they can."

What fun.

"If you should like some help with your studies don't hesitate to ask for it," she smiled reassuringly. "Oui?"

"Oui," we all replied in unison.

Currently though, I shiver on the bench of our table, clutching Gabrielle's hand beside me. She looks at me oddly, as if I'm acting strangely, and then I remember she doesn't know I entered. I give her a weak smile.

"It's so exciting, n'est-ce pas?" I whisper.

She nods and turns back around, watching as Dumbledore dims the lights within the room, drenching us all in a flickering blue shadow, set off by the Goblet itself. I stare at it, mesmerized, waiting for something, anything to happen. And at the same time I don't expect anything at all... But I'm hoping for everything in the world.

Somewhere along the same bench I sit at, I know Angele is pretending to be nonchalant and casual. Just moments ago she was putting on an act, pretending like it didn't matter much, that whoever actually got into the tournament would represent the school wonderfully. All words that she's putting forth in case she doesn't actually make it.

Mon Dieu, I hope she doesn't make it.

"Now," Dumbledore begins. "The moment you have all been anxiously waiting!"

He practically glides over to the Goblet and I watch him, feeling my heart speed up, beat in my ears, pulse throughout my whole body, and jump into my throat, all at the same time.

He turns to all of the students in the hall, "Let us find out who the Goblet has chosen as our champions!"

I hold my breath as he turns to the Goblet again. With a loud pop that makes me jump, it begins to flicker and pulse into a dance, turning from a beautiful blue to a deep, rich red, before it diminishes and then leaps to even greater life again, spitting out a small, ragged piece of parchment as it does so. The fragment sails against the wind a little and flutters down, straight into Dumbledore's fingertips. He inspects the parchment for a moment, and I'm afraid my heart has stopped beating.

"The Durmstrang champion is-" he peers at the paper and reads. "Viktor Krum!"

Viktor! My friend!

I clap loudly, as does the rest of the hall, especially the Durmstrang boys, as Viktor stands and walks confidently over to Dumbledore. He's smiling, nodding seriously though as the old man congratulates him and shakes his hand, gesturing towards a door. Viktor gives one last smile to the crowd before he walks over and goes through this door. This one smile sends quite a few Beauxbatons and Hogwarts girls to swoon and sigh.

I look at the Goblet again and see that Dumbledore is looking toward it as well, waiting for the next champion to be chosen. Suddenly, with another pop, the flames tremble and sway, turning a bright, brilliant deep violet. It seems as if a century goes by, and I wait in horribly tense anxiety for the Goblet to spit the paper out. But it doesn't just yet, it dances a little more, and then finally dips dangerously out a view, shooting up again, even brighter, with renewed ferocity, emitting a small piece of charred paper as it calms down once more, fading to a passive blue again.

Dumbledore looks at the paper and I narrow my eyes toward it.

It doesn't look like my stationary. It seems browner, brittle, completely different. Angele's paper? I don't dare look at her to see if she's pleased to see it is, indeed, the paper she used. Instead, I wait, not breathing, not blinking.

My anxiety reaches new heights as Dumbledore takes his time reading the name, scrutinizing it with meticulous eyes. Clutching my hands into fists, I find that my palms are slick with sweat and I wipe them on my skirt, cringing a little. An erratic, intense beat begins to sound in my head, and I realize it's my heart. I swallow, finding my throat dry and scratchy. I clear my throat, waiting as the seconds drag by like days.

Finally, Dumbledore speaks, "The Beauxabtons champion is-"

Time stands completely still.

I'm waiting for him to say Angele's name. Waiting for my hopes to be crushed. Waiting for my chances at proving myself to be dashed to nothingness. Waiting for everything to fall apart. Waiting for a cup to tell me that I'm not good enough to prove myself- there's nothing to prove!- I'm a pretty face, a half-blood, not even a person- nothing more. How can you prove you're something, when you're really not?

In a split second I doubt myself. I was foolish to even put my name in the Goblet. I'm not brave or strong or even magically capable of winning this tournament. I'm stupid. I'm a stupid little girl. Just like everyone's always said, I'm too delicate to even be chosen. And there's nothing that I can prove.

"Fleur Delacour!"

The silence that follows is loud, roaring in my ears. And then, out of politeness, the other schools clap. Beauxbatons, however, is stunned and confused into silence.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Gabrielle whispers.

I turn and see that Angele looks as if she's been smacked in the face, and Laure looks totally confused, like someone's just told her she's an elephant who should be ice skating. But, the girls start clapping and I stand up, maintaining my dignity, even as Gabrielle watches me, confused and unsure. They all think a mistake has been made, that I'm going up to Dumbledore to tell him I never even entered the contest to begin with.

But they're all wrong, and I'm going to prove it to them.

I'm practically ecstatic as I shake Dumbledore's hand and retreat into the room that sits behind the door Dumbledore directs me to. I don't care if the girls don't believe I can do it. I don't care if everyone's angry that Angele is not the champion. This is about me now. The Goblet chose me.

This means I'm good enough and I'm going to prove it to them all.


	11. In the Hall of Mirrors

**Chapter Eleven  
In the Hall of Mirrors  
**

I find out that the room Viktor had disappeared into is a room filled with trophies and plaques. Ranging from gold to bronze to silver, to pure white, to sparkling greens, to every color and sheen imaginable, everything is shimmering and bright. These obejcts all throw back each other's reflections, as well as the reflections of others. It makes me feel as if I'm walking through a hall of mirros. And as I walk deeper into the room I catch my own reflection in several trophies, noting just how well they've been polished. Walking forward even more I see a large fire crackling and sputtering in the large fireplace at the opposite side of the room. This fire seems dim and pathetic compared to the Goblet's flames, but it reflects within the shimmering plaques and trophies, making it seem brilliant as well.

Viktor, who had been standing, looking into the fire, with his hands clasped behind his back, turns toward me. His face breaks into a large smile and he spreads his arms wide, as if presenting the whole room to me.

"Fleur!" he says happily. "You are champion?"

I can't help it, my face breaks into a huge smile and I laugh, "Oui!"

We both break into a fit of laughter, laughter that is a little pointless, but we're both so happy that we can't help it. When this giggling subsides we look around the room, admiring all of the objects awarded to people for doing special things.What an appropriate room. It's what we all want: the recognition, the reward, the knowledge that we won, the opportunity to win.

I'm broken out of my thoughts when someone else enters the room.

Looking up I see a boy, about my age, walking proudly into the room. He's tall, with nice broad shoulders. Without too much muscle, but not too skinny either, he seems just right. With nicely tossled golden hair and dreamy low-set light brown eyes. I find myself drawn to him. Feeling a slight pull at the bottom of my stomach I try to put a casual smile on my face as he strides over to us in front of the fireplace.

"You must be Hogvarts champion," Viktor says.

This boy nods, "I'm Cedric," he shakes Viktor's hand and then mine.

I can't find words for him as he releases my hand, leaving an electric buzz behind as he places his hands into his pockets.

"What do you suppose will be first?" he asks.

I don't want to seem like a total fool so I say, "I suppose we'll find out soon."

We wait there for a few moments in silence, and then we here someone else enter the room. Expecting it to be Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Madame, and perhaps that Bagman and Crouch, we prepare ourselves to address our elders. But we're all very surprised to see a teenaged boy enter our midst.

It's Harry Potter.

We all stare at him, and he at us. He looks so dazed, so bewildered and confused that I want to help him, but I don't know what to say. It almost seems like he's not sure why he's there. Or he doesn't quite believe the reason.

"What is it?" I prompt him. "Do zey want us back in ze 'all?"

He doesn't respond, only stares at us. I exchage glances with Cedric and Viktor. They both seem just as confused as I am. We wait for the poor boy to say something. But before he can, the sound of frantic footsteps enters the room and Monsieur Bagman appears. He walks up to Harry and grasps him firmly by the shoulder, as if he's looking at Merlin himself.

"Extraordinary," he mutters over and over, staring at Harry.

Confusion fogs my brain and I blink a few times, narrowing my eyes at the two, trying to figure out what's going on exactly.

Suddenly, a whole slew of people storm in. Among this group is Madame, who immediately comes over to me, placing her hands protectively on my shoulders. Dumbledore rushes over to Harry, and Bagman moves aside. Karkaroff is yelling in another language, flinging his hands about in adamnant frustration, Monsieur Crouch trails behind them looking uneasy. Putting both of his hands on Harry's shoulders, Dumbledore gets very close to his face.

"Harry, did youputeur name in the Goblet?" he demands of the boy.

He frantically shakes his head in response, looking frightened, "No, I didn't sir!"

"Did you get someone to do it for you?" Crouch interjects suspiciously.

Harry looks ill, "I had no idea!"

"Professor," Cedric steps forward. "What's going on?"

Dumbledore looks at us as if seeig us for the first time, he moves away from Harry and steps toward us.

"It seems that Harry is the fourth champion," he says.

Before I can stop myself I blurt out, "Quoi?"

"Dumbly-dorr, this is impossible!" Madame says indignantly.

"Indeed," he agrees. "I was sure the Age-Line would prevent anything like this from happening."

My voice shakes as I say, "But 'e is just a little boy!"

"Little boy or not, the rules are binding," Monsieur Bagman says, looking sternly at Harry. "The boy will have to go through with the tournament and do his best-"

"I vasn't avare the host school vas allowed TWO champions," Karkaroff says acidly. "Did I read the rules wrong?"

Dumbledore shakes his head gravely, "No, Igor, a mistake has been made- On whose part, we don't know."

Madame bursts, "But of course you are not really allowing 'im to compete!"

Bagman and Crouch exchange a brief glance before Crouch says, "The rules state that any champions must compete, no matter what the circumstances."

"This is ridiculous!" Karkaroff shouts. "If Hogvarts is allowed two champions then vee should have two as well-"

"I'm afraid that's not how the Goblet works Igor," Bagman said calmly. "The Goblet has gone out anyway, it won't ignite until the next tournament."

I glance at Viktor who gives me a worried look.

Karkaroff barrels on, "Vith all the negotiations and meetings that vent into this I expected things to be more careful!" he shakes his head. "I think maybe we should not compete at all!"

"Don't make threats you can't keep, Karkaroff," a gruff voice says from the doorway. "They all have to compete- binding magical contract... Convenient, eh?"

In comes a large man with messy, thinning hair and a false eye. His face is scarred immeasurably and as he walks a false leg thunks noisily against the ground, in tune with his limp, aided by the help of a cane. He's looking angrily at Karkaroff with one eye, but the false one is swiveling around to examine all of us.

"Convenient?" Karkaroff echoes. "I'm sure I don't know vhat you mean, Mad-Eye."

"Moody," the man corrects him. "You know what I mean Igor, don't you? Someone put Potter's name in the Goblet- Someone who knew he'd have to compete once it picked him-"

Madame interjects, "Someone who wants 'ogwarts to 'ave a better chance of winning!"

"I agree," Karkaroff says. "The Ministry will be hearing about this-"

"Funny- Everyone's complaining but the one who should," Moody says.

Everyone looks around.

Moody says, "Harry."

We all look at Harry, whose discomfort becomes even more etched onto his face as we all wait for his reaction.

I feel as if I should come to his aid, "Mais bien sur! Why should 'e complain? We've been 'oping and praying zhat we would all be chosen, and 'ere 'e is, chosen without trying!"

"This is a chance students vould die for!" Viktor says, slightly angry. "And he has it being put into his lap!"

Moody speaks eerily and says, "Maybe someone's hoping he will die in the tournament."

A frighteningly shocked silence follows his words and we all look at Harry, who looks as if he's going to retch out of pure fear.

"Moody... There's not need to frighten the boy," Bagman says. "I'm sure he'll do wonderfully in the tournament," he gives Harry a smile.

Karkaroff throws his hands up angrily, "But of course Moody needs to think up ten different vays for someone to kill Potter before the sun goes down!" he shook his head. "You are crazy!"

"Insane, am I?" Moody shouts back, making me jump a little. "Only a skilled witch or wizard could have tricked that Goblet into thinking four champions ought to have been chosen- I doubt a friend of his did it as a joke!" he continues on. "I'm guessing that whoever did it put Potter's name under a whole separate school so the Goblet would think he was in his own category-"

"Seems like you've given this is a fair bit of thought, eh Mad-Eye?"

Moody gives a smirk, "It's my job to think the way dark wizards do, Karkaroff, as you might recall-"

"Alastor!" Dumbledore calls Moody off from finishing whatever his comment could mean. "This is a very difficult situation, but as it is, we must have both Harry and Cedric as Hogwarts champions."

Madame shouts, "Mais Dumbly-door-"

"My dear Madame," Dumbledore says, "If you can think of any other way around this, then please, offer your intelligence."

She remains silent, but I can hear and feel her angry breathing on my neck.

I'm hardly listening as Bagman begins speaking to Crouch and to us. A fourth champion? What does this mean for the tournament? What does this mean for me? Harry looks thoroughly bewildered and sick as he tries to listen, Cedric looks a little angry and Viktor looks suspicious. But I'm just unsure. If the tournament will be harder for me to win and easier for Hogwarts than I'm angry... But if it was unintentional and Harry is in this against his will, I can't help but feel bad. It's like Gabrielle being forced into harm's way without asking for it. I shiver.

I focus on Crouch's words, figuring that they must be important to the tournament.

"Your first task has been designed to test your daring," he looks almost sick and tired as he tells us, but somewhat excited. "Maintaining bravery and strength of will while being faced with unknown obstacles is very important in a wizard, and you will need your wits about for this task!"

I swallow a little nervously.

Crouch continues, "You four will not be able to ask for or accept any help from your teachers. You must go into this task with only your wands and your abilities."

We all stare at him when everything goes silent and I listen carefully to Cedric's breathing beside me.

"The first task will be on the twenty-fourth of November in front of the judges and your fellow students," he pauses. "I think that is all, Albus?" he asks Dumbledore.

He nods, "I believe so."

"All right then, you are free to go," Bagman says cheerfully.

Before I can say anything to anyone or have anything said to me, Madame clamps her arm around my shoulder and steers me out of the room. She guides me through all the hallways, ranting angrily and unknowingly squeezing my shoulder uncomfortably.

"Putting a boy into the tournament," she raves. "It's ridiculous!"

I don't say anything in response.

"That's fine, he has no chance anyway! A fourteen year old, in this tournament?" she scoffs.

When we reach the Tour de Terreur she leads me into her separate chamber, but I hear all the girls, loud and chatty in the dormitory. Most of the sound is blocked out as she closes her door and leads me into a tiny make-shift office. She nearly pushes me down into a chair and stands before me, hands on her hips, a little angry.

"Now Fleur, why didn't you tell me you were entering the tournament?"

I pinch the hem of my skirt, looking at my feet as I say, "I wasn't sure I was going to do it Madame," I say. "But I was so sure that it was what I wanted last night that I entered."

"Angele took council with me at least four hours a week when she found out about the tournament, Fleur," she shakes her head. "You're not prepared for this."

"I am, Madame!"

She looks at me, unsure.

"I want this."

She gives me a sympathetic smile, "I know you may want people to see you for something other than your looks Fleur, but I'm not sure you can-"

"You don't think I'm intelligent and brave?" I demand. "You don't think I can do this?"

"Non, ma belle, I have all the faith in the world for you, but I don't think you're ready- Maybe with some preparation..."

I stare up at her, hurt and upset.

She sighs, "We don't have a choice now, do we?" she nods. "We'll work any way we can before the task, oui?"

I nod, smiling faintly.

After a moment of silence she says, "I'm glad it was you, Fleur," she nods slowly. "I think you have a very good chance at this."

"What about Angele?" I ask before thinking about the question.

Madame tilts her head a little, "I'm not sure Angele would be ready with all the training in the world," she shakes her head now. "But you- I think you'll go far."

When I leave her chambers I feel myself beaming, but my happiness is short-lived. Now I have to go to the dormitories and I know there will be hell to pay waiting for me when I arrive.


	12. Maelstrom Reactions

**Author's Note:** I greatly appreciate all the reviews I have received for this story! I know it's slow-going, but I like to take my time to write the chapters, and I'm working on so many stories right now that it's difficult to work on them at the same speed, all the time. I'm glad no one is finding Fleur too out of character, or too difficult to read through. And if anyone is wondering why she's so protective of Gabrielle, it has to do with them being sisters, but there's more to it. You might not find out in this story though, I might reveal it in the second story I have planned, which shows Fleur during the fifth book, when she meets Bill and works at Gringotts. If anyone is up for that. And here is chapter twelve! Enjoy!

**  
Chapter Twelve  
Maelstrom Reactions**

I take as much time as I can going back to the dorms.

First, I sit in the common area, staring at the walls around me, listening to the loud chatter and laughing of the girls in the dormitory. After some time I grow bored though, and stand up, moving over to a small window in the heavy stone walls. Outside it's raining. Large, sloshing rain drops fall from the sky, shattering against the window, pounding against the exterior walls. Thunder and lightening accompany this rain, making the floors underneath me vibrate with every rumble. The bright, white light of the flashes illuminates the whole common area, warning me when every bolt of thunder will arrive. Even with this warning I find myself jumping every time the angry claps sound in the sky, and the sound of shrieking girls filters downstairs, followed by slight giggling.

_I have to tell Mama and Papa._

The thought enters my mind and I cringe. They're not going to be happy at first, but maybe they'll warm up to the idea.

Laughing to myself, I know they'll be shocked. But that was the point of my entering the tournament. No, I'm not just a delicate little Fleur. I'm something more. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'll find it. I know I will.

With that being said, I think it's time I face the biggest fear of all.

Angele.

I ascend the stairs with trepidation, fear clotting my throat with lumps of dryness. Hesitantly, I open the door and step into the dormitory. All goes silent. Every pair of eyes turns to me. I take notice of Gabrielle, sitting on her bed, alone, looking at me worriedly, hopefully. Laure is biting her lip, looking between Angele and I. And Angele, of course, is glaring at me, a disbelieving smirk on her face. She allows a huff of a laugh to escape her lips and she puts her hands on her hips, sauntering over to where I stop in the center of the aisle to my bed.

"Well, if it isn't our petite mademoiselle _traitor_," she says venomously.

I laugh a little, scoffing, "Excusez-moi?"

She shakes her head, as if she can't believe my attitude, "Mon Dieu, Fleur, you couldn't let the spotlight be on anyone else besides you- _for once_- could you?"

"Je regrette," I pause. "Did I do something different than you? Other than not display my goals for the world to see?"

Laure is chewing loudly on her fingernails and I glance at her, I look back to Angele, who is shaking her head again, anger turning her face red.

She practically spits at me, "You only entered so you could steal the chance from me!"

"We all had the same chance, Angele," I tell her calmly, rationally. "I didn't manipulate the Goblet... If that was even possible we know you'd have tried."

"How dare you!" she takes a step toward me and I stand my ground.

I smirk at her, waiting for her to say something else.

Proudly, I say, "The Goblet chose me because _I'm_ the right one for this tournament, not you," I lick my lips. "You know what this means as much as I do. I was chosen because the Goblet wanted me. Don't be such a sorry loser-"

"Were you really chosen fairly Fleur?" she raises a dark eyebrow at me, her eyes quickly calculating behind thick brows. "Come on, tell everyone what _really_ happened."

Whispers of curiosity spread throughout the dormitory and Gabrielle looks around fearfully.

What is Angele talking about?

Clearing my throat, I say, "What really happened?"

"Shall I tell them? Or would you like to do the honors?" she gives me a wicked grin and my stomach flips. I stay silent, so she barrels on, "All about how you seduced Dumbledore just so he could charm the Goblet into choosing you."

My mouth falls open in horror. Dumbledore? That crazy old headmaster? Only Angele could suggest something so ridiculously wrong and horrible.

Words of protest reach my ears, telling Angele just how inaccurate that is, just how impossible it is to charm the Goblet, even if I had convinced Dumbledore to do so. She seems angry and dissatisfied that not everyone is instantly wrapped by her lie, but I'm grateful. Some of the girls are looking at me skeptically, as if they believe me to do something so low, just to steal the glory from Angele. Quel horrible. The Veela ghost story she spun the other night is feeding their ideas. They all believe, that because Angele's 'Veela' tried to 'kill' her brother, that I wouldn't be against seducing an old man for a deadly tournament.

I can't even control it, I lose my temper, "Ferme la bouche!" the room instantly silents. "Angele, I knew you were desperate and selfish, but I never knew you would stoop so low as to make up lies to mollify yourself," I shake my head. "You really are a sad, pathetic bitch-"

"Don't you dare!" she shrieks. "You dirty slu-"

"Angele!"

It's Laure's voice that cuts her off.

All eyes turn to Laure as she sits there, afraid. She doesn't want to take sides, I can tell by the way her eyes are darting between both of us, "Both of you ought to stop it, if Madame hears you two fighting again then we'll all get a lecture."

Sending each other one last hateful glare, Angele and I go to our respective sides of the room, and all of the girls begin to talk and laugh and whisper, as if nothing has happened. I sit on my bed, with my back to the rest of the room, looking out the window into the dark, stormy night. With a handful of blanket clutched in my fist, I'm angry, trembling slightly, seething. How dare she try to make it seem like I seduced my way into this tournament. I'm sure I could, but does that mean I would? No. Besides, the Goblet chose. Does she think I seduced an inanimate object too? I scoff to myself, watching rain trail down the glass of the window, gathering and leaving molecules of water as it does so.

"Fleur?"

I turn and see Gabrielle standing with a hesitant look on her face, just a little bit away from my bed.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, ma petite?" I ask, my anger vanishing, seamlessly slipping into worry.

She looks around, as if everyone is listening and watching. Wordlessly, she puts her hand out for me to take. I put my hand in hers and she leads me out of the room, down the stairs, and into the common room. The room is cold and the rain is loud in this silence. Sitting down, I look up at her, motioning for her to sit down beside me. She looks worried and afraid, and I fear that she might actually think I seduced Dumbledore after all. When she sits down I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze.

"Gabrielle?" I say softly and she looks up to meet my eyes. "What is it?"

Visibly swallowing, she finally whispers, "Fleur, is it a mistake?"

"Of course it's a mistake!"

Her shoulders sag, "So you won't be in the Tournament after all?"

I crease my eyebrows, "Of course I'll be in the Tournament."

"But you said-"

"What _Angele said_ is a mistake," I shake my head. "She's a liar."

The fearful look returns to her pale face and she shivers, "I mean you being chosen as Beauxbatons champion!"

"Why would that be a mistake?"

"Because..." she trails off. "Because you didn't enter, did you?"

Pausing, I say, "Mais- Gabrielle, I did enter."

Losing all of her fear, turning it into anger and confusion, she abruptly stands up, dropping my hand in the process, "But why?!" she nearly shouts. "Why would you do it?"

"Gabri-"

"No!" she yells, the volume magnified in the empty room. She lowers her voice and says, "You didn't tell anyone- Not even Madame! And what will Mama and Papa think?"

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around all of this, "I was hoping they would be proud of me."

"They didn't want us coming to this school to begin with! Mama will kill you when she finds out!"

My pride is wounded considerably. It's one thing for Angele and Laure to put me down, but it's another for my sister to be this doubtful and angry. I smooth out my skirt against my legs and look at my hands as they rest, rigid, against my knees. Here I had been expecting Gabrielle to at least be surprised, but not this angry or against the idea.

I clear my throat, but don't say anything.

Gabrielle begins talking again, still annoyed, "And why did you keep it a secret? Did you want everyone to have this reaction- to be surprised and angry-"

"Gabrielle, I kept it to myself because I didn't want everyone to be so against the idea! I knew everyone would try to talk me out of it and turn to support Angele and- I just didn't want that."

She doesn't say anything.

I shake my head again, "If I was going to fail and be turned down I wanted to do it without everyone knowing," my disappointment turns into anger and my eyes grow focused. "Besides, I don't have to explain myself to you at all!"

"You didn't even tell Madame!" she says again, stomping her foot. "You're not ready to be in a tournament like this!"

I stare at her, horrified, for a few long seconds, unmoving.

Her shoulders fall and her anger dissipates, revealing a mass of worry and fear clouding her face again.

She looks down and whispers, "What if you get hurt?"

She's not meaning to put me down, she's just afraid for my safety.

"Gabrielle," I say gently, and her face crumples into tear-filled sobs. She lowers herself onto my lap and I put my arms around her, stroking her hair like Mama used to when we were sick or frightened, "It's going to be all right. Everything is going to be fine, je promets."

She looks up at me, her face shining with tears, "Mais- Harry Potter is in this tournament, and the quidditch player- How can _you_ do it Fleur?"

As if for the first time, I think about who I'm up against, who I'm trying to beat. Viktor; famous and athletic, fearless and strong. Harry Potter; true, he's only fourteen, but he was invincible, he's the boy who defeated Voldemort as a _baby_. And Cedric. I don't know much about Cedric, but he must be as good as the other two. I'm trying to beat these three? And what will happen if I lose the tournament? I'll have Laure and Angele laughing in my face, everyone telling me that they told me so. For Gabrielle, I put on a brave front and pretend to be teasingly offended.

"Quoi? You don't think your big sister is capable of winning against a couple of petits garcons?" I raise my eyebrow at her in a silly way and she smiles a little. "You do not have to worry about moi!"

"Are you sure?" she asks, sitting up a little.

I nod brightly, "Gabrielle, the Goblet chose me to be in this tournament because it knows I'm capable," I tell her, hardly believing my own words, my heart is so weighed down with fear, anxiety, regret, and hesitation. "Not because it wants to have a laugh at me."

This seems to reassure her and she wipes at her face, sniffling loudly, "But what about Mama and Papa?"

My face falls serious for Gabrielle's benefit, "Gab," I say, trying to sound like a frog. "I think Mama and Papa will be my scariest obstacle in this whole tournament, but I'll get through it."

She can't help but giggle when I make a silly frog-face at her. Then, I begin to tickle her sides and she squirms and falls over onto the couch, shrieking with laughter. When she finally stops laughing and sits beside me, smiling, I urge her to go upstairs, back to her friends and the other girls. Worriedly, she asks me if I'm going to come up with her.

"I think I'm going to take a quick walk first, but I'll be up soon."

Her eyebrows knot, "But I thought we had a curfew."

"We do," I say to her. "But I won't get caught."

I wink at her as she smirks at me and hurries up the stairs, and into the bright, loud dormitory. When the door closes behind her, I stand up and sneak out of the common area. I can't bear to face the other girls right now, even if they believe I entered fairly. Right now, I just want to be alone, to think and to clear my head. So I crawl through the arched doorway and into the dark, shadowed hall.

The ceiling seems miles away from where I stand, and the walls seem papery thin in the drafty night wind. As I walk I gaze at the portraits around me, lingering before a portrait of a little girl, sitting on a well, looking down a thin shaft of darkness. She looks sad and confused, and she alternates between gazing into the well and then glancing at the sky, as if waiting for something to happen. When her routine doesn't falter, I move on, hoping to warm myself up in this chilly corridor.

This unfamiliar and stark coldness of Hogwarts is still unnerving, I realize, as I begin to ascend a flight of stairs, only to find in shifting directions under my very feet. I clutch at the thick railing until it stops moving and hurry up the rest of the steps, onto the next landing. The Palace of Beauxbatons is so kind and welcoming compared to this monstrosity. If the Tournament was being held at our school everyone would feel welcome within a night, all comfortable and warm in their beautifully bright surroundings. But Hogwarts, Hogwarts is so dark and eerie. This chilling mysteriousness is confirmed when I walk down several hallways, jumping at the slightest noise and shadow.

It's only after I've gone up several floors and stand before a large window that faces out toward the lake that I enjoy this frightening castle. The window runs the height of the wall, and I stand before it, watching the lightening-lit sky brighten all of the rolling grounds. Even from here I can see the waves of the lake churning violently and menacingly with the fierce winds, and I'm glad I'm inside. But this eerie fright is sort of welcome right now. I like that it's distracting me from worrying about writing home to Mama and Papa, or from making me think about Angele and my mangled friendship with Laure, or my fear for what is to happen to Gabrielle because I'm in this tournament. For right now, all I think about is the violent storm outside, and the darkness that will continue to swallow this entire castle whole for several hours.

And I suppose I must learn to fully enjoy this darkness, when I'm nearly trapped within these shadowed walls.  
**  
Author's Note:** Next chapter? CEDRIC/FLEUR!


	13. Madame's Task

**Chapter Thirteen  
Madame's Task**

**Author's Note:** In this chapter, Cedric/Fleur, as promised, but it's only the pieces of a beginning, so don't go chomping at the bit. I keep forgetting whether or not the other schools attended classes while staying at Hogwarts, but I don't feel like a school would have their students going without an education for a year, so, in this story, they are attending classes. Let me know if I'm wrong or right according to the book, because I can't quite keep the information whenever I find out. Hope it's not too short, and that you all enjoy it!

"Mes filles, I have a task for _all_ of you."

We're all sitting around the common room the following Sunday morning after breakfast, looking up at Madame as she stands before the empty fireplace.

I'm still a little unsettled from a nerve-wracking breakfast, but I'm paying attention as best I can.

While managing to put some dry toast into my nervous-aching stomach this morning, I sat by myself, as Gabrielle was eating breakfast with her friends and a few Ravenclaw girls and boys, and Laure still won't speak to me. Beauxbatons girls approached me cautiously, congratulating me or smiling at me, but not one sat with me, so powerful is Angele's wrath apparently. And I kept hearing projected comments from the tyrant herself, talk of how she didn't really want to be in the tournament, of how it's so dangerous, of how the fatality numbers are so high that she's glad she didn't get in. Mais bien sur, oui? But her words left me so nervous and anxious that I was hardly thinking straight when Madame announced everyone's needing to meet in the common room of the Tour de Terreur at ten o'clock sharp. And the walk upstairs didn't calm me either, only made me wonder if I would make it through this Triwizard Tournament alive, let alone victorious.

Currently, all the girls look at Madame with bright, excited eyes. What is her task for us? Is it going to be fun? Maybe she'll give everyone else their own little, _safe_ Tournament.

Angele, of course, pipes up, raising her hand delicately, "Madame, will Fleur have to be doing this task?"

"Of course she will," Madame says defensively, but good-naturedly. "Fleur may be our champion, but she is still a Beauxbatons student, and she is still included."

My heart swells with gratitude towards Madame Maxime and I try not to smile too foolishly as she meets my eyes.

Continuing, she says, "My task, pour vous, now that you have your class schedules for Hogwarts, is to find out where your classrooms will be for tomorrow."

Everyone begins to chatter and whisper excitedly, clustering off into groups already, to scavenge and explore together.

"Mes filles," Madame says over all the voices, halting everyone's words. "There are two rules you must follow when finding your classrooms."

Everyone waits, breathing hushed and eyes wider.

Madame says, "Le premier? You can not partner or group up with anyone from Beauxbatons."

I see a few eyebrows crease in confusion.

"And secondly, you must ask a Hogwarts student for help."

The whispers return, pulsing and throbbing until they turn into one dull roar of voices. Some of the girls are angry, they don't want to talk to the Hogwarts students or get separated from their friends, even for the day. And some of the girls are excited, already planning on who they are going to find to help them. Angele and Laure's eyes are gleaming with excitement as they fervently talk through who is going to ask who and how. I grab snatches of their conversation, words like 'popular' and 'Cho Chang' and 'best friend.' Of course they think they already have best friends here.

Et moi? Who am I going to ask?

For a brief moment my mind flashes, with relief, to Viktor. But then- of course! He doesn't even go to Hogwarts and will be just as lost as I will.

Madame talks over us again, telling us to quiet down until the room is silent. Regally, she says, "Mes filles, the Triwizard Tournament has always been about competition and bravery, strength and magical prowess," she pauses, looking over all of us. "But it's also about joining together in unity. Just because we live in different countries doesn't mean we should be separate. We are all _one_ magical world, and I'm going to push you to get to know our foreign hosts," she tells us with bright finality. "And I trust you will all make me proud."

We all stare at her, feeling slightly moved. I don't know if any of us have thought of the magical community as one world, as opposed to separate nations. And she has this task to help us unify ourselves with our fellow witches and wizards. I know I wish to make Madame proud with this small, simple task, but who, Mon Dieu, can I ask to show me around?

"Go, mes filles," she prompts. "Off to your task."

We all get up and leave the common room in a wave of chattering and laughing. Most girls are staying in their clusters until they find their Hogwarts student, but others are separating now, setting about this task with great determination. I, on the other hand, walk alone, my feet feeling like heavy stones beneath me. My thoughts work over the ideas of who can help me. Immediately, I think of the other champions. Obviously not Viktor, because he's from Durmstrang. But what about Harry Potter or Cedric? We're all champions, we're connected somehow, in camaraderie and whatnot.

With renewed determination, I make my way to the Great Hall, set on finding Harry Potter. He's only fourteen, but he could probably use a friend in one of the champions, especially since he's so young and seemed so bewildered yesterday. So I search for him throughout the Great Hall, scanning the crowds and tables for his dark hair and lightening bolt scar. Without any luck, I try to look for him in several courtyards, but after the sixth one, I give up and slump onto a stone bench near a statue of a raven, poised for flight on the back of a lion. Where could this boy be? I feel as if I've wasted the whole day looking for him. I retrieve my schedule from the pocket of my silken skirt. It's a long list. I ought to find someone fast or I won't be able to find all of my classes, and merci, mais non, I don't want to be lost tomorrow.

Give something else to Angele and Laure so they can humiliate me and laugh some more.

Speak of the Devil, I see Angele pass in the open-air corridor nearby, laughing and chattering with Cho, the pretty and popular Ravenclaw girl they were talking about from before.

That's it.

I stand swiftly, deciding that I will pick someone right now. It doesn't matter who, just someone from Hogwarts to help me.

There's a cluster of students in black robes laughing and joking around in a group, munching on toast and apples, looking about my age. Flipping my hair, channeling some confidence from my Veela blood, and thinking of an angry frown on Angele's face, I make my way over to the group, hips and legs working in synchronistic measures. When I reach the edge of the group they all break apart to face me, silenced at once. With sickening realization, I see they're all boys.

"Excusez- Excuse me," I falter, looking among them for a kind face. I'm surprised to see Cedric, one of the Hogwarts champions, is among them. He smiles kindly, recognizing me. Well, he seems nice, and he's a champion. "Oh, 'ello," I give him a little wave. "I am sorry to be bozering you, Cedreek, but I am wondering if you could 'elp me locate mes clazrooms pour- eh- demain?"

Mon zut et Dieu, why can't my English be smoother?

The boys chuckle a little, immaturely, foolishly. They leer at me, thinking the pretty little French girl will be amused by their audacious air. No. Je ne suis pas. Cedric, on the other hand, is only smiling a little, at least he has the decency to keep from laughing. But he's smirking at my imperfect English, at my lapse into Franglais, and my temper flares.

Fine.

He glances at his friends, feeding their laughter and smirking, their slapping and nudging.

Raising an eyebrow, I say, "Zat is fine. I do not need your 'elp zen!" I turn on my heel and stalk away, sending the boys into a fit of chuckling.

Pieces of hair fall around my face and I swat at them as I storm away, sure that my face is growing red and hot at being so rudely embarrassed. That's fine, I don't need Cedric. I'll just try to find Harry again. Dieu! Just because Cedric is handsome, and a champion, he thinks he can be rude and immature! Je ne crois pas! Urgh! I nearly want to shriek and stomp my feet in anger. I'm so sick of being humiliated- so sick of being degraded. But I don't need him. I'll manage on my own. I'll-

"Wait!"

I haven't even gotten that far when the voice stops me. Swiftly, with a severity in my movements, I turn around and look at the group expectantly. Cedric is making his way over to me, pulling his black cloak over his shoulders. His friends are smirking and laughing, but he looks sincere, maybe a little annoyed. He reaches me and ushers me back into the corridors.

Shaking his head, he says, "I'm sorry about dem."

"Qui?" I say. Faltering, "I mean- erm- uh- 'oo are you speaking of?"

He looks at me as we keep walking, "My friends. I'm sorry about my friends and the way they acted."

I nod, "Oh."

"They're immature and stupid," he tells me. "I reallium sorry."

Finding the translation gap frustrating, I try to sway the conversation, "It eez fine."

"Budilbee happy to help you," he says with a sincere and promising smile.

My stomach flutters and I can't help but smile in return, "C'est vrai?"

"I don't know what that means," he says with a crooked grin, crinkled amber eyes, and a small laugh. "But, yes, I'll help you."

I laugh a little with him, finding this inability to communicate properly and the looks on both of our faces amusing. With a genuine smile on my face, and the first one in days, I say, "Zank you beacoup- er- uh lot."

He nods, still grinning, "Of course."

* * *

The dungeons of Hogwarts are, even more so than the rest of the school, dark and dreary.

Because it's below the rest of the building, there are no windows, and the only source of light comes from the torches mounted along the walls. Orange shadows flicker as you move, making you feel as if you're walking through the darkest hours of the night, even though bright morning sunlight is cascading around the world outside. In the distance, or from varying spots down here, water drips, slowly or quickly, rhythmically or erratically. We walk past old, damp, wooden doors, leading to classrooms, closets, or maybe even torture chambers.

Honestly, prison or torture cells would not surprise me down here.

But I'm walking along these dungeon corridors with Cedric. His confident gait and knowledgeable words put me at ease. He knows these halls and what to expect at every doorway and turn of the way. I'm thankful I chose to ask him, he's giving me good advice on how to remember where my classes are, what to expect from the teachers, and he's making me laugh without even meaning to.

"Advanced Potions, huh?" he raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.

I smile itches at my lips, but I don't allow it to form completely, "Oui, do you know eet?"

He nods, "I'm taking it," he raises his eyebrows, as if he's impressed that I'm taking it as well. "It's very drificuld."

"Pardon?" I ask, slowing my steps. "Eet eez vairy...?"

"Drificuld?" he says, slowly now.

I lean toward him a little, "What does zat mean? Drificull?"

He laughs a little, "No, drificuld, not drificull."

Damn the English language.

I stare at him and he stops walking, "Hmmm, it's means hard- not easy?"

Not easy? I can't make the connection.

"Dificile?" he ventures, his accent completely English, but the word gets through, clear and understood.

"Oh!" I say brightly. "C'est dificile?" I laugh. "Well, I will manage, I zink!"

He smirks, "Of course."

We start walking again.

"You'll have Snape as your teacher," he tells me. "He's a bit of a prat-"

I let out a honk of laughter, "A _what_?"

He looks amused as I giggle, "A prat?"

"What eez a prat?" I say, with only an inkling of an idea of what it could mean.

His smirk widens, "I think you know what it means," he says teasingly, as if he means to scold me.

"But I do not," I shrug lightly.

"You're laughing," he points out.

I try to contain my laughter, "Eet zounds comeekal!"

"Uh- It means-" he looks at me and shakes his head, still smirking. "It means a bum."

I shake my head, not understanding, but still smiling.

"An arse?"

I keep looking at him, waiting for the connection.

He snaps once, trying to think of a proper word, then, with pride, says, "Une derriere?"

The honking laughter returns, and I'm nearly doubled over in giggles, Cedric watches me laughing, with me clutching my stomach. Tears are seeping out from the corners of my eyes, and he's beginning to laugh too now.

"Ton professeur est une derriere?" I gasp. "C'est vrai?"

He laughs, "Uh- yes, he's an arse."

My laughter finally subsides and we walk onward, "I'll show you where the derriere's classroom is."

I almost begin to giggle again, except I'm stopped by the sight of Jean-Pierre, Laure's petit ami, walking toward us, looking smug and annoyed. Surprise and anxiety feel my brain when I realize I had almost forgotten about his trying to take advantage of me, and how I am no longer friends with Laure because of it. As he walks forward he eyes me up and down, walks with a swagger, holding a small burlap sack in his hand.

When he reaches us, he stands in our way, speaking to me in French, "Seducing the Englishmen, Fleur?"

"Leave me alone, pig," I hiss, right back in French.

Cedric watches the exchange between us, our words too fast and foreign for him to follow.

Jean-Pierre looks at Cedric, as if sizing him up, before he can say anything else I ask, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Your Madame needed some herbs for her horses, asked me to get it from the potions teacher," he looks at Cedric again. "Is this the kind of shit you hang out with, Mademoiselle Haute?"

I narrow my eyes at him, "I hardly know him and he's already perfection compared to your sorry self!" I snap.

"Come on, Fleur," he takes a step toward me, placing a hand on my hip and puts his lips dangerously close to my ear. "You liked it when we kissed, when were on your bed-"

I push him away, "Arret!" I shout.

Cedric looks on, confused, but weary, I can tell just from the way he's standing.

"Don't try to play hard to get," Jean-Pierre says, stepping closer again. "Just drop the act so we can use one of these abandoned classrooms to our advantage," he smirks suggestively and puts his arm completely around my waist.

I can't push him away because his grip is too strong around me, but I shout at him, "Let go of me!" I pound at his chest as he tries to kiss my neck. "Let go!"

"Hey!" Cedric says, finally stepping in, he uses his strength to push Jean-Pierre off of me. "I believe she told you to stop."

Jean-Pierre looks from Cedric to me, "The shit speaks?"

"Jean-"

"Leave her alone," Cedric says.

Jean-Pierre looks blankly at him.

I translate, "He's telling you to leave me alone."

"What will he do if I don't?" he steps toward Cedric, puffing out his chest. Cedric looks at him defiantly.

I pull the two apart, pushing Jean-Pierre away, "Go back to Madame and give her her herbs," I order. "If you don't return she'll suspect something and I'll tell her of your games."

He narrows his eyes at me, "Just you wait, Fleur," he nods. "The shit will begin to stink and you'll be crawling to me," he says, stalking away.

"Are you okay?" Cedric asks as we begin walking again.

"I'm fine."

He looks back, to see if Jean-Pierre is really leaving, "What was that all about? What was he saying?"

"'ee tried to eensult you," I shake my head. "'ee is my best amie's- uh- she eez- dating 'im?"

He looks at me, confused, "And he wants to get with you?"

"'ee'az tried to keez me before," I look at the floor. "Tried more- My best amie won't speak to moi."

Cedric looks at me sympathetically, "Because of that _prat_?"

I look at him, see the smile flickering behind his eyes. The giggle returns, he's trying to make me feel better, to make me laugh, by saying the word. We have an inside joke, almost. I smile.

"Oui," I don't even care about Jean-Pierre's insulting words anymore. Instead, I say, "Merci, Cedreek, for making me smile."

He nods graciously, saying, "My pleasure."

I do believe the pleasure is all mine.


	14. The Weight of the Fall

**Chapter Fourteen  
The Weight of the Fall**

**Author's Note:** I didn't notice this the last time I posted, but _Within These Shadowed Walls_ is over a year old now! I remember when I was writing the 'Jean-Pierre tries to rape Fleur' scene, in my summer history course last year, with the teacher thinking I was taking notes. I'm in another summer history course, so it's like fast-forward deja-vu. Thank you all for sticking with this story. I don't feel Fleur gets as much attention as she deserves, and I'm glad I have others agreeing with me by reading this. Happy slightly belated birthday _Within These Shadowed Walls_! Hope you all like the abundant Cedric/Fleur in this chapter, and the slight Laure/Fleur spat. Enjoy!

* * *

I leave breakfast the following morning with a knot in my stomach.

My first class, Muggle Studies, is in ten minutes. Not many of the students have left the Great Hall yet, but I'm afraid I'll forget where the classroom is, or lose my way, or something! So, I leave a little early.

As I walk through the halls I clutch the handle of my bookcase in my fingers, feeling my nervousness mount. I try to think about what Cedric told me yesterday, about all the information he gave me on Muggle Studies IV, and the teacher I have. Let's see. He said that Professor Burbage was quite nice, and that she wasn't too hard when it came to grading. If I don't understand anything the teacher says because of the language barrier, I need only ask Professor Burbage and the woman will be glad to give extra help or explain something again. He also told me that the class is relatively easy, unless you have no clue about muggles. Well, I have an idea, and I have been taking the class for three years at Beauxbatons, so I feel somewhat confident when it comes to the material I'll be learning. But, what makes me so nervous is the translation issue. Will I be able to focus on my classes? Will I learn anything when I'm so busy translating all of my notes and papers to comprehend everything the teacher says? With a deep breath, I approach the classroom door, relieved that I hadn't gotten lost. I notice that the door is closed though, locked as well, so, I wait outside.

Several minutes pass, and I spend the time looking at the paintings around me. One woman, sitting in a portrait, keeps looking at me disdainfully. She gets up at one point and moves to a new painting, whispering to woman in a painting of a witch's kitchen. They whisper and snigger at me.

I snap at them, "Common schoolgirls, you are!"

They understand my English, and look apalled, whispering angrily, hushed and fervent.

"Talking to the paintings?"

I look and see Laure walking towards me, an amiable smile on her face.

I don't say anything to her, only stare.

Her shoulders slump when I remain silent. She asks, "You're taking Muggle Studies aussi?"

"Obviously," I say, looking away.

A quartet of Hogwarts students join us by the wall. They don't pay us any attention, only laugh and talk, comfortable in this normal routine, in this typical atmosphere of school life. Laure moves closer to me, glancing at the Hogwarts students. She looks at me imploringly.

She whispers, "I don't think you're selfish for putting your name in the Goblet," she smiles. "I think it's great-"

"Don't talk to me, Laure," I snap, making her jump a little. "You didn't trust me when your petit ami tried to _rape me_, and I don't want you to trust me now, whatever the truth may be."

She sounds hurt, "He didn't try to rape you, Fleur," she narrows her eyes at me, ignoring the cluster of Hogwarts students and Durmstrang students that add to the waiting group. "I know that you were just jealous of him and me," she shrugs. "I'm willing to forget about it-"

"Well, I'm not," I spit, wheeling on her. Several of the other students look, but they don't understand what we're saying, only see that we're fighting. "I was the victim, and now you're coming back to me because I'm a champion-"

She scoffs, "That's not why-"

"We're no longer friends," I say, my voice trembling with anger. "You ruined that, and don't try to change anything now."

She's stunned as I move to stand on the other side of the door. Properly scolded though, she stomps off to stand with the other Beauxbatons girls who have just arrived. I ignore her fast speech, knowing full-well that she is talking about me. But I don't care. I don't need her and her games.

The group has nearly doubled in size before our teacher comes bustling down the hall. She's a short woman, sort of round and plump. She's dressed in a frilly white button-down blouse, with a gray woolen skirt, and small, black high-heeled shoes. There's a large, billowing cloak around her, and a pile of books haphazardly gathered in her arms. Her gray hair is cut into a bob, curling slightly at the end, and her blue eyes peer at us behind oval glasses.

"Heavens!" she says, chuckling. "I didn't realize I was so very late!"

With much difficulty, she manages to open the door and ushers us all inside.

She explains, for those of us who don't know, that it's free seating, so I sit beside a timid looking Hogwarts girl, trying my best to ignore Laure as she's surrounded by other Beauxbatons girls.

After depositing her books onto her desk, Professor Burbage turns around, arms spread wide, smiling, and cheerfully asks, "Who's ready to study muggles?"

* * *

Muggle Studies IV and Transfiguration go by in a blur of confusion and frustration. I've tried to translate everything the teachers say and write it down, but it's all going too fast, too English, for me to grasp anything. So, I give up towards the middle of Transfiguration, ignoring the teacher, Professor McGonagall, when she sends me dirty looks. Just to anger me, she calls on me, asks me questions when I'm staring into space, clearly not paying attention. I just tell her that I don't know, in French, shrugging. She shakes her head and ignores me after that. So, I stare blankly ahead until we are dismissed, and then I drag myself downstairs, to Advanced Potions. I remember Cedric's words; this class is difficult and the teacher is mean. I am absolutely dreading it.

The dungeons are cold and damp, and I find the classroom easily enough. It's filled with musty steam and putrid smells that mingle together dysfunctionally. The majority of the class is already inside, so I take seat in the middle of the room, beside a leering boy with a pimply forhead; the only empty seat left.

From across the classroom I see Cedric and he catches my eye. I smile, and he gives me a little wave.

A door at the front of the room slams open and I jump slightly, facing forward. Striding slowly into the room to stand in front of a chalkboard, and behind a counter, filled with a boiling cauldron, different ingredients, and open ledger books. He peers over his crooked nose, sneering at all of us behind a curtain of greasy hair.

"I would welcome our foreign guests to Advanced Potions," he drawls, his eyes scanning all of the students dressed in blue or red. "But I highly doubt you can understand me."

Can't we?

I exchange a glance or two with a few girls from Beauxbatons, and even with some boys from Durmstrang. What a condescending and prejudice thing to say.

He speaks again, "This class is difficult azitiz, so if you're having too much trouble, I advise you to take regular potions instead," he rolls his eyes. "I'm not a language tutor, so I can't translate anything for you either-" the door opens and a short, squeaky boy enters. "What?!" Professor Snape snaps.

"Sir- Professor Snape, Mr. Bagman needs Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory, sir," his voice shakes as he says this.

I look to Snape, seeing him shake his head, "They're in the middle of a class!"

"I know, sir," the boy squeaks. "But Mr. Bagman said-"

"Yes, very well," he barked. "You two may leave, but it's your responsibility to make up the work you miss."

Cedric nods, gathering his things to leave the room. I do the same, following him, and the small boy, out the door.

Once we've walked a few feet from the classroom, feeling that it is safe, Cedric asks, "Colin, right?"

The boy nods eagerly, pleased that someone of Cedric's apparently high stature, knows his name.

"Why is it that Mr. Bagman needzus?"

Colin is practically bouncing on his heals as we turn onto another corridor of the dreary dungeon tunnel network. The boy, with a huge grin on his face, says, "I think they're taking pictures for _The Daily Prophet_!"

Pictures?

For _what_?

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I ask, forgetting to translate myself.

Cedric turns to look back at me, his brow furrowed.

I shake my head a little, frustrated with myself, "What eez zis, ze _Daylee Profeet_?"

"You don't have _The Daily Prophet_ in France?" Colin asks, his eyes wide.

I turn my eyes on him and he almost shrinks away, blushing, "Non, we do not."

"It's the wizarding noozepapare for us," Cedric puts in graciously. "You must have the French version."

This damn translation business is going to be the death of me, I'm sure.

Blinking furiously, trying to make sense of his foreign wording, I reiterate, "Noozepapare?"

We ascend a staircase and are finally out of the stifling darkness of the dungeons. The halls are empty as of right now, because all of the other students are in class. I can't deny my gratitude for little Colin, as if he's an angel, for taking me out of Potions, even if it wasn't his choosing. I take a deep breath. Even though it's cold, as is to be expected, it's fresh and thin, compared to the suffocation of being underground. How will I ever survive Monsieur Snape and his prejudiced Potions class? Especially when it's advanced?

"How do you say noozepaper in French, Colin?" Cedric asks the little boy, who seems scared out of his mind to be asked a question he thinks our lives all rely on.

Stuttering, Colin replies, "I-I don't know, sir."

"Sir?" Cedric laughs, and I find myself smiling. That laugh is infectious, and the smile aussi. "I'm not _that_ much older than you."

The boy gives us both a sheepishly apologetic smile, "I have to go get Viktor Krum and Harry Potter, but Mr. Bagman said to go to the room at the end of the hall upstairs- Near the statue of Angus Freck- Do you know where it is, Cedric?"

"Yes," he nods. "We can manage from here, Colin, thanks."

Colin meets my eyes, and then quickly looks away, the pink coloring rising to his forehead now. He scurries away like a mouse.

"I think someone has a crush on you," Cedric says, leading me past the Great Hall.

I lean toward him slightly, "A croosh?"

He laughs, and I find myself smiling despite my embarassing language barrier.

"I think Colin likes you."

"Moi?" I shake my head. "I do not zink zo."

He nods, as if he doesn't believe me, giving me a crooked smirk. My stomach and heart flutter erratically, foolishly. His hair falls into his eyes slightly, but he jerks it back against his forehead. The little sly smile won't go away, and, strangely enough, it's making me nervous. Why am I having such a childish reaction to a facial feature? This is absolutely absurd. I desperately clutch for something to change the subject.

I ask, "What is a noozepaper?"

We turn a corner, and up a flight of stairs.

"It's- Um- A paper- With information on what's happening in the world every day?" he ventures.

The connection snaps into place.

I nod, "Un journal?" I ask, proud of myself for finally understanding. But then I'm resentful. Fleur, that was simple.

He nods, shrugging a little, "Do you have a magical journal?"

"Oui," I reply, swallowing past my self-loathing. Why must I be so incompetent? "And yours eez ze _Daylee Profeet_?"

Nodding, a piece of hair fails into his eyes again, but he ignores it, "And I guess they want our pictures."

Fear clutches at me. Mama and Papa don't know about my being a Triwizard champion, they aren't aware that I even entered. What if they see me in the paper? They'll be over here before I can even object, yanking me from the Tournament, back into France. But, they can't. It's magically contracted. I have to compete now. That idea alone has me trembling slightly. There's no turning back. I don't want to turn back- I just don't want Mama and Papa to disown me either. But this journal won't reach them. We're not in France. I'm safe. For now. But that doesn't make my having my picture taken any better.

_Fleur is so beautiful._

_Fleur is going to grow up to be such a beauty._

_Fleur is going to break hearts._

_Fleur is so gorgeous- Madame Delacour, may I take a picture of her?  
_  
I don't want my picture taken. I don't need all the readers of _The Daily Prophet_ to know that I'm beautiful- And I know I am- but I don't want everyone else to! They'll use that against me. If I fail they'll all say it was because I wasn't serious, that I was just a pretty face out for more attention. _Remember the champion from France? She was so beautiful_, they'll say. _Much too delicate for a tournament like that._ Cedric turns from the step above me, hardly slowing as we begin to go up another staircase, he glances at me, curiousity and confusion etched onto his face.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I realize, for the first time, that I'm stomping my feet hard against the stairs as I climb, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. By the way my face is tense, I know I'm furrowing my brows in anger, my eyes blazing against his back as I walk, trying to forget the words of others, past or future.

I slow my climb slightly as he continues to look back, "I am good," I tell him.

He nods once, and then continues the climb, but, before we can reach the top, the staircase shifts and changes direction. Because I'm not holding onto the bannister, I lose my balance for a split second. I bend backwards precariously, afraid I'll fall down the stairs and then off the staircase completely, as it's not properly attached to any other flooring right now. Pushing all of my weight forward, I maintain something resembling balance. I don't grab onto the bannister though, instead, I squat down on my step, hunched over, afraid my height will cause me to tip backwards or sideways again. In only a few short seconds, the staircase realligns itself with another landing, and the shuddering underneath us ceases. I don't move though. What if it shifts again? and I fall? The fear is thick and it smothers me. Heights, falling- I can't stand any of it. I listen to my hectic breathing, huddling against my knees, trying to hold myself in a ball, to forget where I am.

"Fleur?"

I forgot Cedric was here.

Hesistantly, I look up at him.

He's looking down at me, a slight look of amusement playing against his features, "You can get up now."

I only shake my head.

I'll fall.

Gabrielle fell. She bled. I cried. It was all my fault. I snap my eyes shut.

"It's all right, really," Cedric says, and his voice is closer.

I open my eyes slowly, finding him ducked down, almost kneeling against the step right above me. He's not amused now, he seems a little concerned.

I swallow, "What eef I fall?"

"You won't," he says.

"I almost deed."

He nods slowly, "But you didn't."

Clearing my throat, trying to be rational, trying to remind myself that I don't know this boy, that Mama would not condone this public display of weakness, I say, "I do not like falling."

"Not many people do," he says lightly. "The staircase isn't going to move again- We're almost there- Closer than we would have been if it hadn't moved, so, let's go."

I look up at him, and he seems so confidant, so sure that I'll be okay- but Gabrielle almost died as a baby... Shaking my head, I squeeze my fingers into fists.

After a moment or so, he whispers, "Fleur?" I look at him hopefully. "I'm right here- I won't let you fall."

I look at my surroundings. I'm crouched in on my body- On a staircase. I look as if I'm mad- What is wrong with me? I mentally berate myself. How could I have been so foolish, so stupid? I swallow, standing on shaking legs. Mama would call this delicate. _Frightened by a moving staircase?_ Fleur, what makes you think you can take on whatever this competition will bring? I gulp down my own swallow, and smooth out my skirt, trying to exude confidence and assurance.

"I am sorry," I say, walking with Cedric up the stairs, trying to seem like I'm cool again, as if none of the little episode happened. "Zat was fooleesh of me-"

"No, it was reasonable," he says, almost sternly.

I drop the subject, hoping he can just forget it.

We're silent as we enter through an arched doorway, and into another corridor, lined with portraits. I glance at Cedric beside me. He doesn't look as if he thinks my fear was funny, and the worried look on his face has lessened, vanished almost completely. But he still looks confused, as if he can't understand why the moving staircase would frighten me. He did say it was reasonable- Is he just trying to be nice? I shake my head, trying to clear it. My stomach is still tingling fearfully, the nervousness of nearly falling itching at the insides of my body. Gabrielle fell. Stop thinking about it, Fleur! _Maybe this fall was punishment for what you did, but you screwed it up._ The fall wasn't on purpose- I was just trying to- I swallow, feeling panicky and sick.

Cedric is silent, turning down another hall.

Something occurs to me.

He's probably thinking to himself, _Why would this delicate girl enter the Tournament, or be chosen, if she's so easily scared- And by a staircase?_

Clearing my throat, feeling burned by an assumption I'm making, I say, "I am not so scared, usuallment."

My English tumbles against itself, but I don't care as much right now.

Cedric looks at me, almost surprised, but he doesn't say anything.

The silence that follows my words makes me uneasy, so I speak again, barrelling on, nervous, determined, "Eet eez juste- Ma seester fell when I was leetle and- I am juste- Ze zought of falling scares me-"

"Fleur," Cedric cuts me off kindly, stopping to turn around and face me. "You don't have to explain yourself."

His words are so kind and genuine, and I believe that he's not judging me for what happened, that he's not thinking anything about delicacy or my involvement in the Tournament. I press my lips together, smiling slightly, gratuitously. His eyes are amber, soft as they roam my face. I'm used to this- People examining me, looking me over- But I don't feel as if he is judging me, just appreciating the way I look, from my blue eyes to my collarbones, half-hidden in my uniform blouse. Which is not to say that I'm not enjoying his looks as well. The line of his jaw is so straight, so defined, and his eyes are so serious, even when they're soft. I remember myself, hoping I haven't been gazing into his eyes too long. Looking away, I clear my throat.

I look around him, "Should we go?" I ask.

He's shaken out of his thoughts, and he smiles slightly, "We're here," he gestures to a statue of a wizard in a kilt, in an alcove across the way. I hadn't realized the length of the hallway was empty, save for this room we're standing before.

My cheeks are warm as I smile, and then again, as he opens the door for me.

I step into a plain classroom that is ridiculously drab and empty, by Beauxbatons' standards anyway. The desks in the room have been pushed out of the way, save for a few, that have been lined up in the front of the room, covered in a cloth of deep purple velvet. Behind the desk sits a few chairs, and then behind the chairs, a blackboard. Cedric is by my side in seconds, the door closing behind him.

Monsieur Bagman, who had been sitting behind the desks, looks up, smiling widely. He stands quickly and strides over to us, gripping my hand and pumping it, and then doing the same thing to Cedric. Is that supposed to be a handshake? Nearly crippling.

"Fleur," he says jovially. "Cedric. You're the first to arrive."

Cedric nods politely, "Good to see you Mr. Bagman."

Suddenly, the door behind us swings open and I jump slightly. In saunters a woman, several inches shorter than I, wearing a gaudy skirt-suit of bright yellow silk. She has large, dangling earrings, half-mooned glasses, and red-lacqured nails. Her hair is a mass of copper-collored spring-like curls, all jumping from her head in different directions. On her arm is a black crocodile-skin bag, lined with feathers at the mouth. A tall, gangly man with a camera follows behind her, looking bored.

"Ah, Ms. Skeeter," Monsieur Bagman says, smiling. "Fleur, Cedric, this is Rita Skeeter with _The Daily Prophet_- She'll be doing a piece today."

The woman clacks forward on black high-heeled shoes, smiling, showing off how red her lipstick is in comparison to her yellowing teeth, saying, "Aren't you two lovely?"

I glance at Cedric, but he's looking at the woman, waiting politely.

"Nice to meet you Ms. Skeeter," he says.

She seems to preen under his words, "You _are_ a charmer." She turns to me, smirking, "And you, the _femme_ of the Tournament."

I don't like this woman, curtly, I say, "Oui."

"Mr. Bagman," Cedric cuts in. "Is this just going to be pictures and an article for the _Prophet_?"

Bagman chuckles good-naturedly, "Oh no- Today is the wand weighing ceremony- the _Prophet_ is here for it though."

"And maybe a special interview or two," Rita Skeeter adds, as if joking with us, like we're all friends.

I give her a witheringly cold glare, and her smirk falls.

Bagman cuts in, "We'll just be waiting for Viktor and Harry, and then we can begin," he tells us. "You two can sit if you'd like," and he returns to the desk-table, with Rita in tow.

Cedric and I slowly make our way over to some desks on the other side of the room, but we don't sit down.

"What eez ze wand weighing ceremony?" I ask. "Zey need to know ze weight of our wands?"

"No," he replies. "I mean, I suppose, they need to make sure our wands are working properly for the Tournament."

Oh. Of course. Mon Dieu. Our wands are our only form of help in this Tournament. I swallow, feeling my wand prodding through the silk of the pockets inside my jacket. A slight worry trickles down my spine. My wand is made from my Grandmere's hair. They'll found out it's Veela. I don't want Cedric- any of them- to know I'm a Veela, if they don't know already. What choice do I have though?

Cedric whispers, "Are you nervoz?"

"Pardon?"

"Nervous? Are you?"

I throw my hair back slightly, prepared to poke fun at myself, "Not unless ze first task involves changing staircases."

Cedric laughs, and I smile automatically- That laugh!

The door opens, and in walks Viktor. Bagman gets up and greets him, speaking to him briefly, before Viktor walks over to us, with Bagman going back to the desk-table. I smile at him. He only gives me a quick twitch of the lips, but I can tell his eyes are amiable.

"Ready for the wand weighing, Viktor?" Cedric asks, trying to be friendly.

Viktor shrugs gruffly, turning to gaze out the window.

I knot my eyebrows. Why is he being so detached?

I look at Viktor, noticing he's clutching his wand within his sleeve. I turn and glance at Cedric, and then back at Viktor, before gazing at the far wall. I wonder what Cedric's and Viktor's wands are made of. Nothing as personal as their grandmere's hair, I'm sure. Dread seeps under my skin. The door opens, yet again, and in walks Harry Potter. He looks miserable, as if he wants to run from the room, screaming, crying, or just getting away. I feel bad for him. How did he get his name into the Goblet, and why, if he doesn't want to do this?

As Bagman greets Harry, with Rita looking at the boy as if he were a peace of meat, Cedric seems to read my thoughts, "What do you make of Harry Potter's being in the Tournament?"

"Make of eet?" I ask.

A small smirk, saying, "What do you think of it?"

"I do not compre'end why 'ee looks so miserable, eef 'ee entered," I say, glancing at the boy as he speaks with Bagman.

Cedric looks at Harry too, "What if he didn't enter?"

"You zeenk someone else entered 'eem?" I ask, slightly shocked. "Why would anyone do zat?"

He shrugs in response, "I don't know."

"Champions!" Dumbledore hollers, and I notice, for the first time, that the room has filled up. Madame, Bagman, Karkaroff, and Monsieur Crouch, are all sitting behind the desk-table. Standing beside them, is a wizzened, old man, that I have never seen before. Dumbledore stands at his seat.

Harry Potter is sitting in one chair in a row of four, placed before the judges, and we all sit as well. With Cedric one my one side, and Viktor on the other. I can feel Cedric's body heat radiating towards me, and again, I feel my stomach flutter stupidly. Pull yourself together, Fleur.

I focus on the judges.

"I'd like to indrojuce, Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore gestures toward the man beside the desk-table. "He will be checking your wands to see that they are in proper working order for the Tournament," he says, sitting down, looking at Monsieur Ollivander, as if giving him a cue to speak.

Monsieur Ollivander steps before the desk-table, giving us a smile, before clearing his throat. Who is this man? What gives him the qualifications to check our wands? Maybe he won't be able to tell what's inside, he could be completely incompetent.

He looks at me, and then says, "Mademoiselle Delacour, if we could see your wand first, please?"

Only because he said 'mademoiselle' instead of 'miss' do I give him a tiny smile as I stand up and sweep over to him. I pull my wand out of my jacket as I do so, and when I reach him, I hand it over.

"Hmmmm..." he hums, staring at the wand, twirling it between his fingers with amazing coordination. With a little swish, he points it away from us, and it emits a number of brilliant, pink stars and sparks. "Nine and a half inches... rosewood... inflexible... containing..." he trails off, looking at me.

It's as if he's asking me permission to reveal something embarassing.

With my pride inflating, I decide to save him the trouble, "An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," my smile is smug, hoping I seem confident and proud. "One, zat belonged to ma grandmere."

"Yes," says Monsieur Ollivander uneasily, glancing at me before peering closely at the wand. "I find Veela hair can sometimes be a bit tempermental- I don't use it myself- If it is compatible with your magic-"

"Eet eez," I almost growl, growing defensive.

He nods quickly, running his fingers along the wood, before finally saying, "_Orchideous!_" and a fluster of blue flowers bursts from the tip of the wand. "Very good, very good," he mutters, handing me my wand, and the small bouquet of flowers. "Mr. Diggory, your wand, please?"

I go back to my seat, disappointed by the emptiness beside me, as Cedric moves to stand before Monsieur Ollivander, handing him his wand.

"I'd recognize one of my wands anywhere," the old man says proudly, looking closely at Cedric's wand. "Twelve and a quarter inches... Springy... Ash... Containing a single hair from a particularly fine unicorn," he smiles, even as he mutters aloud, setting a few rings of silver smoke from Cedric's wand before handing it back to him. "Mr. Krum, you next."

Krum stands up, and walks, rather loudly, to Monsieur Ollivander, handing his wand over with a slightly disinterested air.

"A Gregorovitch wand, yes?" he doesn't even acknowledge a reply. "A bit rigid... Ten and a quarter inches... Hornbeam and dragon heartstring," he nods to himself. "_Avis!_" he says, and the wand thunders like a gun, before a small number of birds fly out of the end, and out of the open window. "Good," he gives the wand back to Viktor. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry gets up and walks to Monsieur Ollivander as if he is off to the gallows. I don't listen to the wand-man talk over Harry's wand, and I'm hardly surprised when he shoots a fountain of wine out of the tip. I'm thinking about Harry, and why he's in the Tournament. Did he get someone older to do it for him as a joke? without thinking he'd get in? And now he's scared and regretful? Or did someone do it as a cruel joke? By the look on his face, miserable and closed-off, I think something like the latter has happened. This boy looks like he'd rather bury himself than deal with all these formalities. I watch as he walks back to his seat, and am suprised out of my thoughts when Rita all herds us for pictures.

We pose for far too long, and I hardly smile, let alone look into the camera lens. I sigh once or twice as well. When the pictures come out, whoever sees them will think I'm being cold and aloof. I just can't tolerate pictures, especially ones that will be seen by tons of people.

"Bagman," Rita says discreetly, when they're packing up the camera. "Might I have a quick interview with Harry- to add a bit of color to the article?"

Cedric, Viktor, and I leave the room, allowed to leave for lunch when the classes haven't even ended yet. When we reach the end of the corridor, Viktor turns a different direction, stalking away from us, loudly.

Without thinking about it, I call out, "Viktor, are you not coming to lunch?"

"I haf svimming to do," he says in return, walking onward.

Cedric frowns a little, but smiles when I look at him, "Shall I walk you to lunch?"

I smile, "Zank you."

We walk idly, in no rush to get there since the Hall will probably be empty when we arrive.

"Do you like sitting at the Ravenclaw table?" he asks.

For a brief moment my heart speeds up. Is he going to ask me if I want to sit with him instead?

I shrug, "Eet does not bozzer me, ze food is ze same everywhere."

He smirks a little, "Do you get along with any of the Ravenclaw students?"

No.

"I do not know," I say dumbly.

"Perhaps you know Cho Chang, she's very nice- I think I've seen her with some girls from Beauxbatons," he mentions.

Laure and Angele's best amie?

I shrug again, "I 'ave not learned ze names properly yet," I lie.

He nods, "She's nice."

I glance at him, and he's smirking again, not at me, just to himself, but I find my stomach flopping simultaneously. It almost feels like I'm falling, only this kind is pleasantly nerve-wracking.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I love slightly unnecessary fluff between Cedric and Fleur. Don't you? Hope this chapter wasn't too long. Thanks for reading, and especially for reviewing!


	15. Regret Ensues

**Author's Note:** I would probably call this chapter, 'Double Whammy!' if I didn't go for more serious, thought-provoking chapter titles. Enjoy!

**Chapter Fifteen  
Regret Ensues  
**

My days are starting to stack up, like the rungs of a ladder. With each day, I sigh, relieved to get another twenty-four hours of miscommunication and frustration under my belt, dreading the fact that everything is still so difficult to get through. I feel as if every day that passes me by, is like another rung I've reached. That's all fine. It's okay for now, but what happens when I reach the top of the ladder- when I get to the first task? I have to jump at some point, and it's scaring me to death. I have had nothing to make me feel better about what's impending, no distraction or happiness. Cedric is busy with schoolwork, and I don't feel very confident asking him to just walk around the lake or some such nonsense. Viktor seems to be swimming, running, keeping up with his flying, or skulking off with Karkaroff, everyday. And Gabrielle is so busy with her friends, and the crush she has on a Durmstrang boy, that she has no time to spend with her pathetic big sister. So, I'm in a slight depression of sadness and anxiety.

Just when I feel like things couldn't possibly get any worse, a familiar great-horned-owl swoops down toward the Ravenclaw table during my weekend breakfast of toast and pumpkin juice, dropping a letter in front of Gabrielle, down the table, and then one in front of me. From the elegant, dark blue script on the creamy white envelope, I know it's from Mama. I look around the Ravenclaw table, but no one's paying attention to me when they have their own letters and goodies. With my heart pounding with fear and worry, I stand up, leaving my breakfast, nearly untouched, at the table, and exit into the outside corridor.

Leaning against the wall, I unfold the envelope and read.

_Fleur,_

_I detest writing to you on such an angry note, but I am afraid you have given me no choice._

_Your Papa and I have received quite an interesting letter from your headmistress. She started off her correspondence by saying that we were most likely aware of what she was about to say, but she wanted to congratulate us on the news. News? I hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about, Fleur. Imagine my surprise when she told us you were the champion for Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament! Madame Maxime went on to say how proud the school was of you, what a wonderful surprise it was- how proud we ought to be. Surprise, indeed. Proud? No. Never in my life have I been less proud of you, Fleur. What do you think you're doing exactly? Trying to get yourself killed? You knew your father and I were wary about you going to Hogwarts at all, but never did we have to fear for your entering a fatal tournament as well! What Gabrielle must be going through. Do you want to frighten your little sister, never mind your parents, when it's entirely unnecessary? I am appalled, Fleur. You have never been so irresponsible and irrational._

_And what's this- Madame Maxime tells us that the champions were announced several weeks ago. Were you intending to keep it all a secret? Did you want us to find out you had been in the Tournament when we received words of a crippling injury or an almost-death? I am disappointed in you. I thought you were more mature than that- I thought we could trust you._

_The way you've dealt with this is just appalling. However, you will compete. Your father spoke with Monsieur Fudge himself about taking you out of the Tournament, but he told us of the magical contract that is binding you to it. It pains me to think of you going into this, regardless of any contractual agreements. How are you going to go through with these tasks? Fleur, you're smart, but this is a Tournament of bravery and wit- I'm worried for you._

_I can't convey how angry and disappointed I am. The Goblet chose you- oui- but winning the actual Tournament is a whole different idea. Don't be foolish, Fleur. You've done quite enough damage as it is._

_Ta Mere_

By the time I've finished reading the letter, it's crumpled in my hands and I'm shaking.

I know that half of Mama's words were written in hot anger. When she is angry and doesn't have time to cool off, her temper flares, much like mine, and she does things without thinking. Even so, I'm hurt. So hurt that tears are stinging my eyes, and it's taking a tremendous amount of energy to keep them within my lids. Quickly, I suck in a sharp breath, squaring my shoulders and raising my chin.

No one will see me cry, not over something my mother said in a letter. This was the point of entering the Tournament- so I could prove that I'm capable of doing this.

_The Goblet chose you- oui- but winning the actual Tournament is a whole different idea.  
_  
A sob escapes from within my throat, but I clamp my lips together, turning to face the wall, covering my mouth with my hand.

I'm trying to compose myself, when I hear a gruff voice from behind me, "Fleur?"

Turning, I find Viktor looking at me, concerned. He reaches a hand out tentatively, and then when I meet his eyes, he puts it gently on my shoulder, leaning in closer. The tears are shining brightly in my eyes- I know, because I can't see through the cloud of salt water- and he knows I'm crying. Why am I such a mess? I can't do anything right. I want to groan and stomp my feet like a child.

"Are you being all right?" Viktor asks in English, our common ground.

I shake my head, "I am fine."

"You are crying," he points out with a kind smile.

"Eet eez zee dust in zis place," I choke, waving the letter around, gesturing to the hall around us. "Eet eez horrible!"

Viktor smirks, "Dust?"

"Oui!" I respond sharply, blinking my tears away. "Dust!"

He puts his arm completely around me, and it's strange- because she's so tall and muscular and gruff- but it's so comforting. I haven't had a friend to talk to in a while. If Laure was ever my friend to begin with. I sigh.

Ushering me outside, a little awkwardly, but sweetly, he says, "Here, you are to be telling me about dust now."

Outside the sun is trying to break through the clouds overhead, but it's damp and chilly out, and I'm afraid the sunlight wouldn't help at all if it could escape. I shake as we walk, tears slipping out of my eyes, sobs bouncing around in my body, trying to find a way out. Viktor keeps an arm around me, as if to steady me, as we walk around the lake outside. His body is enormous beside mine, and I lean against his warmth and kindness, as if my sanity depends on it. We walk for a few minutes, and he doesn't ask me to explain myself, only talks idly, about the lake, about the Hogwarts students, about training, about the Tournament- things that are trivial though, things to make me laugh. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm not responding, only talks softly. It's surprising- I mean, I knew that Viktor was nice, but I didn't know he could be so compassionate and sweet. I sniffle, with sobs breaking out of my lips every few minutes, as Mama's words reverberate in my head. I'm delicate. I've done enough damage. But Viktor keeps talking about the supposed giant squid at the bottom of the lake, and I can't even concentrate on my inadequacy.

"They are to be feeding him the students who fail this year," he tells me, his face straight and serious.

I find myself laughing, though I try not to, "Zey are not!"

"They are!" he's so serious, that the words make me giggle. "I only hope Cedric has studied so far, this year."

Shaking my head, I untangle myself from his arm and sit down on a large rock on the beach of the lake. Viktor sits down beside me, perching awkwardly on it, as if his body was only made for proper chairs. I giggle at the image of him trying to keep his posture on a boulder like this. He looks up at me, defiant.

"You seem to be haffing an easy time at laffing now," he points out, with underlying gladness in his words.

I nod, "Oui, zanks to you!"

He laughs a little, and I join in, but we sober up quickly, looking over the landscape of this foreign castle, falling into silence.

The sky is reflected in the glassy surface of the dark lake, and a distant breeze skims over the grounds, causing slight tides of water to lap against the mucky edge of the beach. It's such a beautiful afternoon, but it's extremely ugly within my world. Mama's words- her disappointment- it cuts deeper and deeper into me every time I think about it. Am I being too sensitive? or is this justified? I sigh out loud, forgetting that Viktor is beside me. When I look up to see if he's noticed, I realize that he's still looking over the water, oblivious, or he's chosen to ignore the sigh. I'm grateful for this.

_Did you want us to find out you had been in the Tournament when we received words of a crippling injury or an almost-death?_

I swallow. What tasks could they give us that could be so fatal? Unconsciously, I shake my head. If I think about it I'll get anxious and worried. And what good would that do me?

Viktor looks at me, I can feel his eyes on my face, but I look across the lake still.

"Fleur," he prompts.

I turn and look at him, "Oui?"

He looks worried, and slightly uncomfortable, but he speaks anyway, "If you do not mind my asking off you- Vhy vere youkring just now?"

Huh?

"Youkring?" I reiterate, knotting my eyebrows.

"Crying," he says slowly. "Vith the tears?"

Oh. Crying.

I look down, mouthing the word, 'Oh.'

I don't respond, and he ducks a little to look at my face, "Vhy vas that?"

"I-" I cut myself off. I don't want Viktor to think I'm too delicate as well.

He locks gazes with me, as if coaxing me to speak. I shake my head, looking away, at the pebbles imbedded into the sandy mud of the beach.

"Fleur, you do not haff to be telling me vhat is wrong," he says quietly. "It is only that- you might feel better- Or I might be of ability to help?"

He's so nice. I'm not even such good friends with him, I don't understand his kindness.

I ask, "Viktor, you are being so nice to me," I shake my head. "Pourquoi?"

He stares at me for a minute, looking confused.

"Why?" I prompt.

"You vere upset- And you are a nice girl," he smiles earnestly. "Ve are to be friends as well, are ve not?"

I smile, nodding, "We are."

"Friends are to be helping each other," he shrugs. "I vant to be helping you, iff you need it."

For a beat I don't say anything. I look at Viktor, his sincerity and his kindness, for a girl who doesn't deserve it. I cause trouble for my parents and my sister, I'm disobedient, I'm selfish, I'm careless and rude and reckless and I'm not even completely human... Oh God. I'm too delicate as well- too fragile for Mama and Papa's taste- for everyone's taste, it seems. Except Viktor. Viktor didn't seem angry that I was crying, only concerned. And right now he's looking into my eyes, worried, willing to hear me whine, willing to lend a shoulder if I need to cry on it. I've never known such warmth and true goodness, directed toward me, and I melt under the effect.

Clearing my throat, I say, "I 'ave gotten une lettre- From ma mere- My muzzer."

His face shifts, "Is there something wrong in your home-"

"Non-Non!" I cut him off. "Eet eez zat- Mes parents did not know zat I was going to enter in zee Tournament," I tell him. "Madame- My 'eadmistress, sent zem une lettre- telling zem that I 'ad been chosen, and zat I would be competing."

It takes some difficulty to get it all into English- Proper English. But, I don't think it's my poor translation and accent that have Viktor's eyebrows pulled together.

He shakes his head, "Are your parents not glad off you?"

Now, I shake _my_ head, saying, "Zey are- 'ow you say- um- zey are mad?" he nods. "Zey are mad zat I did not tell zem- Zat I did it alone."

"But, glad after all?"

A small sob bounces against my chest, and I cover my mouth and nose before it can escape through my lips or nostrils.

Viktor puts a hand on my shoulder, "They are not glad at all?"

"Non," I say stiffly, straightening up. His hand falls from my arm as he notes the rigidity of my posture now. I'm trying to stay so composed as I say, "My muzzer- She says she is mad wiz me and zat I 'ave never made 'er _less proud_."

He watches me, his eyes sympathetic and pitying.

I swallow, taking a plunge into the full honesty, "Zey do not zink I can do it."

I cover my mouth again, my shoulders trembling with the want to cry. Looking away from him, I try to calm myself down and put myself back together, but it's difficult, as I'm reliving Mama's words and her disappointed anger. I was so sure that if they found out I had been chosen, they would be proud, and think differently of me. I guess I was wrong. It hits hard against me, even after the initial shock has worn off, and I try to take deep breaths. The whole time, Viktor watches me, and I notice his gaze shifting from sympathetic and worried, to angry and defiant. I wonder what is causing such a drastic change in his facial features and demeanor. Was it something I said or did? Was it me at all?

"They are wrong," he barks, however, it's a soft bark.

I'm startled by his sudden determination. Sitting up, I knot my eyebrows, sending him a questioning glance.

"Your parents," he presses. "They are wrong about you not haffing the ability to do it."

I smile softly, "What if zey are right?"

He jumps to his feet, pounding his fist into the air with each word he says, as if to assert his point, "They are not!" he looks at me imploringly. "Fleur, the Goblet vas choosing you- Because it knows you to haff the ability to do this! It vould not choose you if you vere not haffing the ability at all."

There's logic in his words, and I roll them over in my mind for a moment.

"Maybe you vill not vin- But not all of us vill," he shrugs. "But you are haffing the ability to _compete_- and _that_ is vhat matters."

Unable to restrain it, I smile to him.

He smiles back, and then his smile turns into a cocky grin, "Vell, I know you von't vin- That vill be me, off course," he puffs out his chest dramatically. "But do not allow me to be stopping you from trying!"

I give him a mock-scoff as a reply, standing up to teasingly smack his huge shoulder, "Do not be so assured, Monsieur Krum!"

He raises an eyebrow, but he's laughing under his joke, "You are to be challenging me?" he flexes his arm muscles. "The great and vunderful Viktor Krum?"

"Ha!" I guffaw slightly, his own personality shining through his faux-arrogance. "We shall see, Monsieur."

He smiles briefly, and then leans, pretending to be secretive and serious, "If you vant to be knowing the truth? I think Harry Potter is going to own us all."

"Own?" I wrinkle my nose. "Viktor, did you juste say own? Vraiment?"

He laughs, "Do you not haff ownage in France?"

"Non," I giggle. "I suppose we are trop good for zat!"

He pretends to be angry, "I could break you!" and he towers over me, as if he means to attack.

"Oh, I'm so scared," I say, giving him a fake yawn.

He laughs, breaking his act, "Could I bore you to death? Yes?"

I laugh just as loudly, "Per'aps you could win zat way!"

"I will be feeding you to the giant squid!" he pretends to reach for me, but I scramble off the rock and run across the beach, laughing, as he chases me, pretending to make amusing squid noises.

The rest of the morning is passed in delightful laughter and endless chatter. Viktor and I talk about France and Bulgaria, about Harry Potter, and a little bit about Cedric. He teases me, saying that I 'make eyes' at Cedric. But I've not idea what he's talking about. We also discuss what the tasks of the Tournament could be, but neither of us has any idea. He also tells me a little about his training: his running and swimming and flying, mostly physical activities that I really hope won't be asked of us in the tasks. He explains to me that he's been slightly private, and a little gruff lately because he had to spend so much time training, and then practicing spells on his own in abandoned classrooms. He tells me that it's stressing him out a little, the pressure that Karkaroff has been putting on him. I try to understand his added pressure, but I'm only glad I don't have to deal with Madame breathing down my neck, on top of everything else.

And then, when afternoon rolls around, we part for lunch. When I arrive, Gabrielle sits with me, asking what I did all morning.

I tell her that I was spending time with one of my friends.

* * *

I'm shaken awake by large, bony hands, long after midnight on Sunday.

Gasping slightly, I lurch forward, but the two enormous hands restrain me slightly. I sit up, my eyes adjusting in the pitch blackness of the dormitory. Blinking several times, I make out the looming figure of Madame Maxime, leaning over me. Moonlight streams in through the window, onto her face, and I see that she has a grimace set across her eyes and lips, tense and worried. She lets go of my shoulders and begins ringing her hands, looking anywhere but into my eyes. I stare at her in the dark, trying to clear the fog from within in my brain- to dissolve the cloud of sleep that had enveloped me, only seconds ago. After a moment or two, I begin wondering what all this is about, why she's woken me up in the middle of the night.

Finally, when she meets my eyes again, she gestures for me to follow her.

Curiosity and half-relief make me jump out of bed, pulling my robe on over my silk pajama set, following closely at Madame's heels as she leaves the dormitory, and then descends the couplet of stairs that, in turn, stop at a landing that leads to her office. She opens the door, ushering me inside, looking around, as if trying to gauge whether or not someone has followed us, or is lurking in the shadows, watching and listening.

Abruptly, she shuts the door, moves around her desk, and lights the fireplace with her wand. She seems so flustered and anxious that I can only wonder at what she has brought me here for. I don't sit down, because she hasn't asked me to. As the room fills with flickers of firelight, thick and orange, I stand, only a foot or so away from the door, watching her pace before the mantle, wringing her huge hands, blinking furiously. She glances in my direction, and then looks as if she's just realized I was actually in the room with her.

"Sit, Fleur, s'il te plait."

I sit in the large chair, stationed before her desk.

For a few more moments, she walks back and forth, cracking her knuckles, squeezing her hands, smoothing down the lap of her dress, rubbing nervously at her cheeks. It's such strange behavior- I'm so used to her being so collected and regal. It makes my heart speed up and my mind race. What does she have to tell me? Did Papa find a way to pull me out of the Tournament? My stomach drops violently and it swirls, making me feel sick and anxious. I swallow hard, trying to keep the vomit at bay, beginning to dig my nails into my palms. Did something happen at home? My heart seems to speed up even further, and I feel almost lightheaded. Is it Mama or Papa? Has something happened to one of them? both of them? Or Gabrielle? I'm sure I saw her in her bed when I left the dormitory. I would have noticed if her bed was empty, at least. My nervousness is increasing dangerously, so much so, that I'm tempted to climb over the desk, shake my headmistress, and demand to know what's going on.

As if she can sense my agitation, Madame takes a deep breath, turns to me, and looks at me, square in the eye.

I stare back, waiting for whatever Fate is going to hand me.

"Fleur," she says, her voice gravely and thick. She clears her throat, saying, "I have some rather important information for you."

My heart nearly stops. I swallow, hardly able to stand the suspense anymore.

She seems to be thinking of what to say for a moment, before she continues, "I shouldn't be telling you this, really- I know it's against the rules, mais..." she trails off.

It's about the Tournament. What does she have to tell me about the Tournament that had to be told to me in the dead of night?

"Mais je crois- Je crois... That you need to be ready for this."

Silence thuds against us, and I stare at her, unblinking, hardly breathing.

I whisper, "Madame?"

"The first task-" she cuts herself off, clearing her throat again. "The first task will- It will involve- in some way- dragons."

The floor falls out from underneath me.

Quoi?

Dragons? Massive, angry, defensive, predatorial, fire-breathing dragons? She can't be serious. This can not be true. But, then again, I don't think Madame is one to joke. But I wish she were.

Swallowing, I blink furiously, trying to make sense of this all, reiterating, "D-Dragons?"

"I thought you ought to know," she tells me, nodding, looking just as sick with fear.

I think I'm beginning to hyperventilate now, but I try to take deep, calming breaths. Serenely, I ask her, "How will it involve dragons?"

"Oh Fleur-" she looks stricken. "I wish I knew."

I can't- I don't think I can do this. I don't know a thing about dragons. What kind of task could they give us that could have to do with such beasts? Is this part of the task, perhaps? her telling me? I can't think straight. I can't comprehend this piece of information or what it could mean. Sickening realization of just how big this tournament is, finally hits home, and I think I'll be sick. I mean, I was nervous about the first task before, but- DRAGONS? I must have been insane to _sign up_ for this. And what am I going to do? What can I do to combat- or use- dragons in this task? I feel faint with worry.

Keeping my surface cool and calculated, I ask, "What can I do to prepare myself for this?"

"Fleur..." she trails off. "I-I don't know- You could do some research on dragons and effective spells..."

She doesn't know.

I'm alone in this.

Nodding slowly, I say, "Merci beaucoup, Madame," although I'm not sure if I am thankful for the revealing of this information.

Maybe I'll have time to leave the country and go into hiding by Tuesday- TUESDAY! Oh God.

"Y-You should probably get some sleep now- I just thought I should tell you so you could prepare before the task-"

"Oui, I understand, and merci, Madame."

I stand up and leave her room, throwing her a charming, and hopefully soothing, smile, before I close the door.

I ascend the stairs with slow, heavy steps. When I walk into the dormitory and slowly make my way to my bed, I'm distracted and nervous. I get into bed, but I don't lie down. I sit up, with the blankets wrapped around me, hugging my knees to my chest, shaking with anxiety. My chest feels tight and my stomach feels hollow and sick. I have never felt more trapped or afraid in my entire life. Who was I trying to fool by entering this tournament? Myself? Everyone else saw right through me.

I suck in a deep breath.

What can I do now? How can I face this? Maybe I _am_ delicate and fragile. Maybe my looks are my only strength. My panic reaches colossal proportions, and, before I know it, I'm crying, because I don't know what else to do, because I can't express the emotions I feel any other way. I'm silent, but trembling, as the tears slip from my eyes.

For the first time since I put my name into the Goblet, I truly wish I hadn't ever entered this tournament.


	16. With that Knowledge in Mind

**Author's Note #1:** Something that was a near-tragedy for this story happened. While I was writing this chapter, after I had gotten quite a bit done, I went to save it, but the battery of my computer fell out. I didn't stress, I thought that the document would just be recovered and that everything would be okay. Wrong-o. I got side-tracked, but I eventually went to open the document and it just couldn't happen. This stupid little pop-up kept yelling at me, telling me it couldn't happen. I tried opening it in different applications, but nothing worked, everything was 'error' this, 'corrupt' that. Needless to say, I was freaking out. I thought the WHOLE story was GONE. Well, before I started hyperventilating I asked the genius living in my house (aka Dad) and he managed to recover it, what I hadn't been able to save when it shut down, and all. I almost started crying (I obviously invest too much importance on my word documents) I was so happy. So, I am entirely grateful for the wonderful application, TextEdit, for being able to open my little story, and to my readers, for giving me a reason to freak out over the loss of said story.  
**  
Author's Note #2:** I had to guess a little for this chapter, but that's only because I couldn't find a bunch of information that pertained to dragons according to the Harry Potter world. I also called J.K. Rowling up and quizzed her a little bit. (Just kidding, haha, obviously.) Either way, I hope the information's accurate! **cheapxperfume**, I look forward to your reviews every chapter! They're really very encouraging. Thank you! As for Fleur dying? I could never kill her. And if I did, then there couldn't be a sequel! Haha. This story is pretty much going to go according to the books, with my spin of Cedric/Fleur, of course. Thank you for reading, and reviewing! Here is chapter sixteen, it's going to be a very long chapter! Enjoy!

**Chapter Sixteen  
With that Knowledge in Mind**

We had quite a few libraries at Beauxbatons- at least one on each floor. The bookshelves ran around the perimeter of the rooms, with ladders to aid in getting books on the highers shelves. The floor of each room, like the majority of the rooms in the palace, was covered in plush, ornate carpeting. The rug was so comfortable that some of the girls would lay their books down and study on the floor. The ceiling of each room had a beautiful and bright chandelier, not too big, but large enough for the whole room to be bathed in a warm glow of diamond-studded light. And exspensive trinkets were placed all around the rooms. A figurine of cupid on one of the shelves. A bust of an old headmaster or headmistress on a side table. An antique map of the palace, or of the world, spread across one of the heavy, oak tables scattered around the libraries. A candelabra off to a corner. These little objects were always so unnecessary, but I always loved to see them against the backdrop of the white and gold gilded rooms, with their over-stuffed, upholstered chairs and shimmering, glossy tables.

The libraries were always so warm and comfortable and welcoming. I loved to go to them and study, or sit and talk with Laure in the huge, enveloping armchairs. It was a warm contentment that spread across those rooms. With our sweet, old librarians, and the comfortable furniture all around, it was hard to imagine anything different.

The library at Hogwarts is nothing like the libraries of Beauxbatons.

It's cold and drafty, with huge paned windows all along the walls. Arched woodwork criss-crosses over the ceiling, nearly touching the huge bookshelves that run vertical to the walls. Long, worn, still-glossy tables and benches cut the library in half, with some smaller tables tucked into nooks within the shelving. And when I walk through the library's massive, glass-paned double doors, a dark, pinch-faced librarian, perched behind a massive desk, gives me a dirty look, and stares at me until I disappear behind the first bookshelf.

Although I feel unwelcome, and I'm shivering slightly, I set to work on finding some books on dragons. I don't dare ask anyone for help on my search, because after the first task, they'll know I knew about the dragons ahead of time and there's a good chance I could get myself and Madame into trouble. So, I file my way through the shelves, ignoring the cold, envious looks I receive from girls buried in their books, and the longing glances and the leers I feel on my back, from boys who have forgotten about the homework in front of them.

I collect an armful of books, careful to hide the titles from curious eyes, and situate myself onto a private windowseat in the back of the vast hall.

The first book I pick us is ancient. It's thick and worn, bound with heavy, green leather, and embossed in gold lettering. My eyes scan over the title. Simply: Dragons. I flip through the first few pages, and then find a chapter that I think is about the dangers of these beasts. I try to read the first line of the chapter, but realization hits me, and I'm annoyed.

I can't read English.

I groan slightly within my chest. The only reason I can speak a little English is because Papa works for the Ministry, and I sometimes have to speak with people like the Minister of Magic, or other officials. And, for the love of me, my spoken-word English is horrible and broken as it is. Reading and writing this god-forsaken language? Forget it. I've never had the need to read or write in English... Until now. I need to read these books- to understand dragons- but I can't understand the language they're written in. Slamming the book shut, I toss it back onto the pile beside me, crossing my arms. Mon Dieu, what am I going to do now?

Fuming a little, I consider my options.

Option 1: Go see if Madame can translate the books for me.

But I can't do that. That would involve checking the books out, and the librarian might not let me. She would probably also be suspicious that the Beauxbatons' champion had checked out a few books on dragons, only two days before the first task that _involved dragons_.

Two days! Ack!

Option 2: Go by the pictures in the book.

That's ridiculous.

Option 3: Find a spell that translates the book for me?

Obviously not.

Option 4: Ask a student for help.

I can't do that either. They would question me, and then they would know that I knew about the dragons. Oh, mon Dieu! This is utter ridiculousness! What am I going to do? What _can_ I do? I wonder if there's any way around this that doesn't get _someone_ into trouble. Maybe I should just forget about research at all- But I can't do that either! I have to be prepared tomorrow- I have to be ready! I feel sick with confusion and anxiety.

I could ask Viktor for help. Sure, I would be giving away the secret to the first task, but it's Viktor, I'd be helping him in turn. We'd all have a fair chance. Except Harry and Cedric. They wouldn't know... But maybe we could warn them too, and we'd all be on the same level.

I'm about to stand up and go find my Bulgarian friend, but then I remember something he mentioned yesterday. He said that he would be diving or swimming or something today, and that he would see me at dinner. I groan.

Looking up, I stare across the room, as if the answer to all of my problems will appear into existance before me. My eyes are relaxed, and I'm not even really seeing anything I'm looking at, only staring, drifting into oblivion. I allow my thoughts to flit away from me for a moment, until I focus my eyes again. And then I finally see what I was looking at. Cedric. Sitting at one of the nook-tables, gathering parchment and pens, as if he's getting ready to put them into his bag.

Cedric speaks English. I'm not totally asinine in assuming that he can read it as well. And Cedric's a champion. Hmmmm. I won't tell him outright that the task is going to involve dragons (because who knows if this is part of the task, me being able to keep this information to myself or not), but if he reads it to me he'll learn something as well, and he'll be even more prepared for Tuesday. I nod to myself, deciding that this is the best I can do, without not doing anything at all, and I stand up.

I gather all of the books in my arms, hurrying over to his table, before he can stand up to leave.

When I approach, he looks up, slightly surprised, and smiles that dazzling smile of his, "Hey," he says. "What's up?"

My eyes drift upward. Up? the ceiling?

"Up?" I reiterate.

He pauses, and then laughs, "I mean, how's everything going?"

"Oh," I blush slightly. "Good- Zank you- Um... Only- I was wundering eef you could 'elp me? Eef zat eez possible?"

He nods, "Yeah, of course," he gestures to the seat across from him. "What is it?"

I sit down and put the books on the table, feeling incredibly foolish and intimidated all of a sudden, which is completely ridiculous. What reason do I have to be nervous about asking Cedric to translate the books for me? He's just a boy, however good-looking, sweet, amusing, charming- He's _just_ a boy. That's it. I've never allowed boys to make me nervous or intimidate me, even if I did like them, because I always knew I was pretty and charming and confident, and that seemed to be enough. For some reason though, I don't feel like I'm pretty enough for Cedric- I don't feel as confident as I do around other, simple boys. And what does that mean? that he affects me this way? I almost want to sigh, but I shake my head quickly, clearing my thoughts, and push a book toward him. I need him to translate this for me, I might as well get it over with. What if he laughs at me for asking him to translate it though- oh who cares? Just ask him, you moron!

Cedric peers down at the book as I ask, "J'ai- I need pour- for you to read zees for moi- I can not read Anglai- Engleesh," I'm stumbling over my words, more so than usual, and embarassingly slipping into Franglais.

"Dragons?" he smirks, looking up at me. "Why the sudden interest in dragons?"

Does he know something? Has he been informed about the dragons too? Oh God, am I losing the Tournament as we speak- by just asking him for this translation? I should never have asked him. I should have gone by the pictures, kept this to myself. My heart is speeding up and the edges of my body feel tingly with anxiety. Why I am so foolish? But- I'm overreacting now. Taking a deep breath, I give him a dubious look.

His smirk widens, revealing his teeth, "It's just suprising- I didindake you for a girl who was all dat interested in dragons."

"Well, je suis- I am," I tell him, jutting my chin out defiantly. "And you should be as well."

"Should I?" he looks amused, not at all like I'm giving him a vital piece of helpful advice to aid him in the Tournament.

I nod, "Oui."

"Well then, I'll pay close attention when I translate it for you, shall I?" he asks, his amber eyes twinkling as he teases me slightly.

My heart flutters at the jibe, but I ignore it, nodding with an indifferent smile on my lips.

He opens the book and flips to the table of contents, as he does so, he asks, "Would you like me to read tholething?"

I don't respond at first, instead, I try to make out what he just said. Tholething? I'm sure I know what that means. Errrrrrrrrm. Monsieur Fudge kept saying thole when he came to dinner last summer, but he was telling some ridiculous joke about a mole and it's- oh! hole. Does he mean hole? the holething? What does that mean?

My face is screwed up in concentration when Cedric looks up, "Fleur?" he prompts.

My name on his lips makes me look up, and I realize I haven't answered his question, "Urm- Tholething? I do no understand what tholething eez..." my voice, and I'm sure my expression, is apologetic.

Cedric looks at me for a moment, his amiable smile twisting into a smirk, and then spreading into a grin. Before I know it, he's laughing, covering his mouth so that the sound doesn't escape. His chest is rising and falling erratically as he tries to hold the humor-reaction in, and his eyes are closed as he leans forward, clearly very amused by something- oh, that's right- the language barrier that has taken up permanent residency around my brain for the semester. As his laughter dies down a bit, but not completely, I scowl at him. It's not funny at all. I have such a hard time with this translation nonsense. Like it's not bad enough that all my classes are in a language I don't understand, I can barely grasp what the professors are saying when I go for extra help, and the only people I'm currently friends with (Viktor and, maybe, Cedric) don't even speak my native tongue. It's all so annoying. I'm sick of feeling confused all the time, like I'm walking through a thick fog, on another planet. I'm tired of feeling like my brain is working too much, even when I'm doing a simple assignment or asking someone to pass the pumpkin juice. It's sheer ridiculousness that I have to have Madame translate my textbooks and homework into the correct languages, like the younger girls, with Angele and Laure- of course- adapting to English perfectly. And Cedric finds this all amusing.

When he sobers enough, and realizes I'm glaring at him, he straightens up, trying to abate the laughter completely, "I'm sorry, Fleur, I really am," he says, clearing his throat.

"Are you feeneeshed?"

He still looks amused, but he says, "Forgive me- That was rude."

"Yes, eet was."

"I wasn't laughing at the fact that you didn't understand- It was just your expression when you _said_ you didn't understand," he explains, his smile broadening.

I raise an eyebrow at him, wordless.

He continues to smile, "You looked so apologetic- but also like you dared me to make fun of you for not understanding."

I did?

"I'm sorry if I offended you," he says, completely serious now.

I shake my head briskly, "Eet eez nuzzing."

"Here," he says. "Let me rephrase my question: Do you want me to read all of this book?"

Tholething means all? I will never understand the English language.

I shake my head, "Non, you do not 'ave to- Um- Zere eez une chapitre zat is about dragons and zere being dangerous- I zink?"

He scans the table of contents, saying, "Yes- 'The Dangers of Dragons,'" he looks up, smiling curiously. "You want me to read that chapter?"

"Only parts- eef you can."

"Of course," he flips through the book a little, stopping halfway through it. After a moment, he begins to read, "'Dragons, though naturally equipped with potentially fatal defense mechanisms, are really gentle giants. These beautiful creatures are not one to interact with humans, unless absolutely necessary, and even then, if they are violent it is because they are afraid. They do not understand their strength, or their power, in relation to that of a human. If they feel threatened, if they feel as if they need to defend themselves, they will become dangerous, and it would take a very brave, cunning, and strong wizard to successfully combat a full-size dragon without subsequently murdering it.'"

His words leave me breathless.

Murdering it? I don't want to murder a dragon, but I most certainly don't want to be murdered _by one_ either.

Cedric looks up, "The chapter goes more into what makes a dragon get defensive- Do you want me to read the titles of the different sections within the chapter?"

"S'il te plait."

He begins to rattle off the different section titles, all of the sections that exlpain what makes a dragon feel threatened, or what can make a dragon dangerous. These sections include: Defending the Home-Territory, Defending or Fighting for a Mate, Defending Itself, Defending the Nest and the Young, Fighting for Survival, and so on. And if you ask me, whoever wrote this book was just trying to make dragons seem all nice and friendly, but really digging themself in a hole. They talk about jets of fire, burning smoke, sword-like claws, heavy tails, spikes, teeth, everything, and then about how it can hurt or kill someone. Dragons pretty much attack if you anger them or scare them in any little way. So, basically, I'm in trouble.

After reading bits of the chapter on protection against dragons (a very small chapter that advised using spells that were made illegal in the 1930s because of illegal dragon restraint or some such drama- again, I'm in trouble) Cedric looks up, "What else can I read for you?"

"Nuzzing else, zank you," I say stoically, shaking my head numbly.

Cedric leans across the table a little, "Fleur? Are you all right?"

"I am fine, zank you," I clear my throat and shake my hair a little, trying to give myself some confidence, but it's all for naught.

Visions of fire-breathing beasts, eating, slashing, burning, squashing, just destroying all four of us, dance around my head, taunting my nerves mercilessly. Was it smart of me to have Cedric read the information to me? Now, instead of just worrying about dragons, I'm worrying about what I know for a fact they are capable of. Grrrrrrr. This is going to be disastrous.

"You don't look fine," he insists. "You look kind of scared- or sick- I could take you to the hospital win-"

Abruptly, I stand up, "Zank you, mais non- Je suis- I am fine," I tell him. "But I 'ave to go- I forgot zat I 'ad to meet ma soeur," I begin to walk away, leaving the books on the table for the unfriendly librarian to deal with. "Merci beaucoup, Cedreek," I call over my shoulder, hurrying across the library and through its huge, glass doors.

* * *

Without question, I fret over dragons during the first task for the rest of the day. My anxieties are simple, sometimes unrealistic, varying in size, weight, color, and affect. I sit in the common room of the Tour de Terreur, knowing that girls are coming and going around me, but I can't pay attention to them. One or two even try to talk to me, but they notice right away that I'm distant and agitated, so they leave me alone. It's just that my mind is so full of fear and anxiety, and that dreadful questioning and second-guessing, that I can't think about anything else, or focus on anything else. I try to distract myself with thoughts of the Christmas holiday in a month, of the wonderful gifts I could ask for- I try to think of Gabrielle, and how popular she is here, of how cold the place is, of how strange my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is, about how I'm probably going to do horribly in Advanced Potions, about France- but nothing sticks in my brain. Nothing takes root and blossoms into a distraction. No matter what I try to think about, it somehow leads me to dragons, the Triwizard Tournament, one of the champions, one of the judges, or the task itself. Trying to think of anything other than my new obsession, is simply hopeless at this point.

At dinner, I sit by myself, picking at a meal that I don't want to eat. I shiver in the hall, listening to conversations around me, trying to ignore Laure and Angele, who are latching themselves onto the pretty Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, as if they were leeches. Even my anger toward the two isn't enough to distract me from the idea of dragons at the task.

Laure and Angele are talking to Cho Chang, trying to be her best friends- Didn't Cedric mention Cho the other day?- Cedric's in the Tournament- The first task is on Tuesday- It involves dragons.

It's a cycle that can not be broken.

It's official. I'm obsessed.

"Fleur?"

I turn around and find Viktor looming over me, looking nervous and wary.

Because I'm genuinely happy to see him, I manage to smile, "Viktor! 'ave you fineeshed training pour today?"

He gives me a curt nod, "Are you to be finished vith your meal?" he eyes my plate, still full of food.

"Oui, I do not 'ave a 'unger anyway," I stand up, facing him.

He tries to smile, "Let us take a valk around the castle- I need to be haffing a talk vith you."

His words make me nervous. Am I about to be reprimanded for asking Cedric for the translation? But Viktor wouldn't know that I asked for help, he was training all day, and he wouldn't have any reason to yell at me for it anyway. Does he know something that I don't? I swallow dryly, following him out of the Great Hall. As we walk the short length to the door though, I feel quite a few pairs of eyes turn toward us, jealous, angry, confused, curious; the usual.

Once we're out of the hall, up a flight of stairs, down two corridors, and through an archway, Viktor speaks.

His voice is gravelly and rough, nervous, as he says, "I am not sure if I am to be telling you this."

I wait.

"But, I haff reason to believe-"

Unable to contain my excitement and curiosity, I foolishly blurt out, "Do you know about the dragons?!"

He stops walking, looking surprised, and I'm afraid I've made a mistake, but he whispers, "How are you to be knowing?"

"Madame found out," I say softly. "You would not tell anyone, would you?"

He shakes his head, "Karkaroff told me," he smiles. "It seems the judges are cheating just a little bit."

He's joking about it, but I'm frenzied with nervousness.

"Viktor!" I cry, althougth quietly. "What are we going to do?! 'ow can we take on zeese dragons?!"

In return, he's thoughtful, but then he frowns, "Fleur- I vish I knew."

I suck in a deep breath.

"It would be easier if ve knew vhat the task was to be," he shrugs, looking at two crossed swords, mounted on the wall. For a moment, I'm afraid the walls could be full of spies of Dumbledore's, or of the Tournament in general- as if the swords are watching and recording our conversation. I am obviously over-paranoid. "Vhat could they vant us to be doing vith dragons?"

"I do not know," I reply miserably.

Viktor is silent for a moment, and I pinch the ends of my sleeves, waiting for him to say something, hoping this will make sense.

Finally, he asks, "Are Cedric and Harry knowing off the dragons?"

"I asked Cedreek to read a book on dragons for me because I can not read Engleesh, but I didn't tell him- I do not know," I shrug.

Viktor looks at me, his eyes narrowing, a smirk playing at his normally serious, set lips. He crosses his arms, as if playfully accusing me of something. Does he think I really told Cedric? that I'm lying to him? But that stupid smile that he's got on is ridiculous.

"Quoi?" I demand, as if the answer should be obvious but we both know that it's not, and this teasing isn't fair.

He says, "You vere to be asking Cedric to read a book to you?" he raises his eyebrows, as if suggesting we did something more than reading.

"Oh Viktor!" I roll my eyes. "Pour l'amour de mon Dieu!"

With his smirk growing, he points an accusatory finger at me, saying, "You make eyes at him!"

"You do not know what you are talking about!" I begin to walk again, with him following quickly beside me. "We read about dragons."

He shrugs, "Vhatever you are to be saying," but his smirk remains, and I can tell that he doesn't believe me.

Groaning, I roll my eyes. I steer the conversation back to dragons, "Are we going to speak of this task or non?"

* * *

Viktor and I got nowhere discussing the dragon dilemma. You think two champions, working together, would be able to figure _something_ out, but, no. It's entirely hopeless. We threw around some good ideas- like confunding the dragon, freezing it, blinding it, resizing it- but all such ideas were either extremely difficult for us to actually do without much preparation, or just impossible all together. I quite like the idea of putting it to sleep. What could be easier than having the dragon lie there, while you set about the rest of the task? Unless of course I need to make the dragon do something- that's another problem entirely.

On Monday afternoon, when my last class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts, ends, I make my way out of the classroom, my head aching and my eyes straining, I sigh. Professor Moody put quite a few notes on the board today, and I scribbled them all down, thankful I would have something to study off of, dreading the shameful need for Madame to translate them for me. Now, all I feel is stressed and tired. I really do hate having to concentrate so very much when it comes to just taking simple notes. But, what am I to do?

I walk through an open-air corridor, on my way to Tour de Terreur, when Cedric stops me.

I haven't spoken to him since yesterday, when I hurriedly left him in the library, and, looking back on it, I feel a little bit embarassed. Thinking about it, it must have seemed really strange for him. The beautiful French girl asks you to read her something on dragons, gets odd and quiet, and then leaves without an explanation. Oh mon Dieu, he must think I'm insane! Cringing, I try to gain some composure and channel my inner Veela for confidence. A smile flits across my lips, and he smiles back.

"Fleur, I was wondering if I could talk to you," he says when he reaches me.

Is it about my strange departure yesterday? I nod to him, still smiling easily.

Merci Grandmere, I need this Veela power to keep myself together right now.

Taking my arm in his hand, he gently steers me to side of the corridor, so we're standing by one of the arched windows that opens onto a courtyard. People are outside, sitting on benches, talking loudly, having a good time since their classes have all ended for the day. They don't have to worry about dragons. They don't have to worry that they might die tomorrow- SHUT UP FLEUR! You're not helping yourself, you stupid girl!

Shaking my thoughts away, I focus on Cedric, "What eez eet?"

Looking around, as if to make sure no one is listening, he leans in, speaking softly, "It's about yesterday."

"What about yesterday?" I ask, my voice light and indifferent.

He leans in even more, so now we're only inches away from one another. Being this close to him- it would be possible for me to press my whole body against his, with only one step- makes every edge of my body feel electric and I feel as if I'm buzzing. It's almost as if the only thing to ease this tingling anticipation would be to touch him, but- I'm not going to give Viktor the satisfaction of being right. I blink furiously, pushing our proximity from my mind, listening to him, concentrating intensely.

Softly, he states, "You asked me to read something about dragons for you."

I stare at him, my eyes boring into his amber ones, unblinking.

"Harry Potter just told me something quite interesting," he continues, and I can actually feel his warm breath against my lips as he talks, looking down into my eyes. "He said that the first task was going to require us getting past something."

Dragons.

He raises an eyebrow at me, a smirk playing behind his lips, "Do you know what that something could be?

Can he tell that I'm nervous? because, for some unfathomable reason, I'm _very_ nervous.

"Quoi?" I ask, trying to sound uninterested.

"Dragons."

I stare up at him, almost defiantly, and he smirks.

His voice drops even lower, "How did you know, Fleur?"

My heart flutters and the buzzing increases at the mere sound of his voice saying my name.

Walking towards us, with his hands clasped behind his back, is Headmaster Dumbledore. He's whistling to himself, looking around the nearly empty corridor, seeming easy and calm. His eyes, however, shift toward us, and he looks slightly all-knowing. It makes me nervous. He's a judge. Is he going to yell at us for fraternizing before the task? for talking about the goal of the task?

Responding to Cedric, I say, "I 'ave no idea what you are speaking of," I say, but my voice indicates otherwise, as if I know _exactly_ what he's talking about, but I won't say it outright.

"Why did you ask me to read you that book?" he asks, his smile still intact, his eyes flickering briefly to my lips as I purse them at him.

With Dumbledore getting closer, I lean a fraction of an inch toward Cedric, "Did eet ever occur to you, Monsieur, zat I am eenterested een dragons?" I ask, my voice coy and teasing.

He seems to understand that I'm playing with him, hoping he takes the hint that, yes, I knew I asked him to read me that book because I knew what the task was, but, hey, his headmaster is nearly right behind us. A smile pulls at his mouth, and he looks at me, as if trying to figure me out. He knows I'm hinting, but he doesn't know why. Why are you playing with me? he wants to ask, and he does so in pulling his eyebrows together, smiling.

"You knew," he points out further. "Potter mentioned something about Maxime-"

Dumbledore is right behind us now, off to the middle of the hallway. He doesn't look at us, but he still makes me nervous.

I cut Cedric off and say, "Non, I do not need Engleesh lessons, zank you!" hoping I throw Dumbledore off.

With that last statement I walk past him, in the opposite direction of the silvery headmaster. As I pass him, I notice that Cedric sees Dumbledore. Understanding clouds his eyes for a moment, and then he smiles, looking over his shoulder at me. I don't look back as I walk away. If I do, I'm afraid I'll want to turn around and start a whole other miscommunicated conversation of translation and mishap. Part of me just wants to be near him again, but another part of me is nervous about it. Either way, I'm still buzzing all over. Mon Dieu, Viktor _isn't_ right. Is he?


	17. The First Task

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews! I love them to pieces! And thank you, once again, cheapxperfume, your suggestion for harrypotterwiki was extremely helpful! All mistakes (or deliberate alterations) seen in this chapter are completely my own fault (good or otherwise). I also made up a sleeping charm/spell, because it was next too impossible to find one that J.K. Rowling had come up with. As you'll also see, I'm a big fan of thinking the champions were all buddies- maybe that's unrealistic, but I think it's possible. Hope everyone enjoys chapter seventeen, it's- er- just a bit long!

**  
Chapter Seventeen  
The First Task  
**

"Miss Delacour!"

I jump in my seat as Monsieur Moody barks out my name. From across the room Angele giggles to a pretty Asian girl, Cho Chang, of course, who only smiles uncomfortably in response. Moody continues staring at me- I wonder, can he sense my irritation and restlessness?- but I don't know what he wants. I haven't exactly been paying attention to what he's been saying for the last hour or so. My brain has wandered back to dragons, and the time that's slipping by, faster and faster. Mon Dieu- I have to meet Madame after I've eaten during lunch, so she can take me to the designated spot for our dragon task. Lunch is next. There's no chance I'll be able to stomach anything _before_ the task- especially not Hogwarts food. But, what with all these thoughts buzzing around my head, my whole body vibrating with nervousness, and my insides twisting anxiously- how can Moody actually expect me to concentrate on his insane lecture? Don't I get immunity from my lack of attention because I'm a champion?

Swallowing back the rising bile in my throat, I manage to say, "Yes, Monsieur Moody?"

"Well? Do you know the answer?" he growls.

Mon Dieu, I don't even know the question!

Before I have to stutter my way through some kind of excuse, he rolls his good eye, his strange one swiveling erratically, and he limps over to his desk.

My shoulders slump, relaxed, but my stomach constricts.

"Wereoudduvdimeneeway," Monsieur Moody says, but I can't even comprehend his words. "Dontforgedat your essaze on those new defensive spells are due on Monday."

He's reminding us about a homework assignment. That must mean- Class is ending. My heart speeds up and I'm afraid I'm really going to start retching now- although I don't even have any breakfast in my stomach to retch. I have to remind myself to breathe, have to remind myself not to hyperventilate and convulse. I can do this. Just like Viktor said, the Goblet chose me because I am capable. Breathe!

Moody dismisses us with a gruff bark, giving me a pointedly accusing look as I gather my things and trudge out of the room, listening to Cho and Angele chatter on in front of me.

"I wonder what ze task eez going to be," Angele whispers loudly, for everyone's benefit, including my own.

Cho shakes her head, saying, "I don't know- Something difficult, I'm sure."

"Do you theenk eet eez going to be pheeseecal or emozeenal?" Angele quizzes. "Somezing dangereuse?"

I push past them, in no mood to listen to even more speculation about the task.

People have been talking about it all day, excited and anxious. Of course, their excitement is all due to the fact that they will be missing the second half of their classes of the day, to watch all of us being so drastically challenged. Whatever the reason for their anticipation, I couldn't escape it all morning. Students were coming up to me, even at le petit dejeuner, asking me what I thought the task was, if I was nervous, what I was going to do, if I thought I was going to win- if I was in their class, they mentioned the task to me. Before Advanced Potions, Cedric and I were both cornered and practically interrogated in the corridor. Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students were fawning over us, with the Durmstrang boys being loyally distant from us, as if showing their solidarity with Viktor. Cedric talked to all of them, sneaking glances at me, glances that either held his anxiety or his amusement over what they were saying about the task. Some of the girls noticed this and gave me the most scathing glares they could conjure up, but I was too sick with nervousness to pay them, or even Cedric, any attention.

And now I have to face this task, in only a short time. It makes me jittery, and I'm afraid everyone can tell I'm shaking. But I'm alone as I navigate the halls and make my way to Tour de Terreur. Everyone's gone to le dejeuner, so, of course, the corridors are empty. This is both comforting, and terrifying- I don't have to put on an act of being calm, but I have no one to stop me if I go positively insane with fright.

Tour de Terreur is empty when I arrive, and I'm thankful. I deposit my bag under my bed, and sit down on the uncomfortable mattress.

The silence that surrounds me is deafening in its wholeness. Not one sound meets my ears as I sit here, staring, unseeing, across the room, to the opposite row of beds. I focus on my breathing- in... out... in... out- until I realize it's not easing my anxiety. Horrible images continue to pass through my mind, and I have nothing to distract me from them- images of Mama and Papa receiving word of my death, Gabrielle going through the year at Hogwarts alone, me, fatally hurting myself in this task, Cedric, Harry, or Viktor, getting hurt or paralyzed or- Stop it- But I can not stop it! The images flash through my brain, even more frequently, every minute. This anxiety is twisting my stomach so violently that the bile rises in my throat before I can keep it down.

I launch myself forward and race to the bathroom, my lips pressed tightly together. Throwing the toilet seat up, I gag and choke, spitting out foul-tasting bile into the water in front of me. My eyes are tearing, and I take a deep breath, before flushing the toilet and walking shakily to the sinks. I lean both of my hands on the cold porcelain, staring at myself in the mirror.

Veela or not, I don't feel beautiful right now.

Shaking my head and looking away, I wash my hands, rinse out my mouth, and focus on regulating my breathing as I leave the bathroom.

I hesitate in the stairway, before deciding that I have to do this, I have to leave the tower now, have to go down to the Great Hall and meet Madame.

I shudder to admit it, but, it's time to face this task, whether I like it or not.

* * *

When I enter the Great Hall I only have time to scan the room once, before Gabrielle is crashing into me, throwing her arms around my waist, burying her face in the fabric of my uniform at my stomach. I laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as nervous as it is, and hug her back. When I smooth her hair I feel her take a deep breath and pull away. I try to smile at her, but it's difficult, so I hug her again, forcing a small laugh.

"What is it, Gabri?"

Right into my stomach, she says, "I'm afraid for you."

I laugh again, feeling anything but amused or confident, "Don't worry about me- I'll be just fine," I pull her away now, mustering up a genuine-enough smile. "Now, the boys- You might have to worry about me beating them," I wink at her and she giggles nervously.

"Fleur-Fleur," I look up to see Madame coming over to me. I step away from Gabrielle, and move toward my headmistress. "Are you ready- Have you eaten?"

Sidestepping the second question, I say, "I'm ready," although I'm not sure that's entirely true.

She nods distractedly, looking almost more terrified than I feel, and she grips my shoulder in her hand and guides me away. I look over my shoulder, giving Gabrielle one last reassuring smile, and a little wave. She waves as well, calling, "Good luck!" before she's swarmed by her friends.

Madame leads me out of the Great Hall, and then out of Hogwarts all together. This doesn't surprise me- obviously the dragons aren't inside- but I realize, again, that this is happening, that there's no turning back now.

We walk around the castle, to the hedging of forest that sits there, daunting and eerie. Thankfully, we don't go inside the forest, but walk its perimeter for a good distance.

"Now, there's really nothing to be worried about," Madame says, but her voice is shaking and she seems distressed. "Just do your best- I know you've prepared yourself- And I'm confident in you, Fleur."

I swallow down the acids ascending the length of my throat again, trying to smile, "Merci, Madame."

She nods, her smile faltering, then she says, "If there's any problems they have plenty of aides on hand to assist the situation- So, it'll all be fine, d'accord?"

"D'accord."

We're now approaching a clump of trees, and I can hear a dragon's roar somewhere in the-not-so-distant distance. I shiver a little, hoping Madame doesn't notice. Behind the trees, jutting out from where I suspect the enclosure is, is a large tent. This is where Madame steers me. She stops at the entrance, turning me to face her. With both hands on my shoulders, she looks at me, bearing her eyes into my own.

"A few things," she starts. "I've left you a training suit in your section of the tent- You are to wear that for the task." I nod at this. "Also, you'll want to get your hair out of your face."

I nod again, wishing she were telling me of more vital information than my appearance during this task.

"And- Fleur, you're truly representing Beauxbatons now," I nod numbly, almost frightened at the serious tone her voice has taken. "Do us proud, ma fille."

She gives my cheek a light pat of her massive hand, and ushers me inside. I glance behind myself, seeing that she's not following me in, but walking around the rest of the tent. I'm alone- except, not really. Already in the tent, are Cedric and Viktor. Viktor is sitting on one of four cot-like beds set up within the space, and he's massaging his fingerless-gloved hands. Cedric is pacing the length of his little room of the tent, and when I enter, his amber eyes meet mine, and he gives me a quick smile, before resuming his nervous frown. Also in the tent, is Monsieur Bagman, who rushes up to me, all smiles.

"Madam-mazelle Floor," he says, butchering my poor language. "Come right on in!" He ushers me in further, with a hand on my shoulder, and says, "Won't be able to say anything about the task until Mr. Potter gets here, so just make yourself comfortable."

I nod, "Yes- zank you."

I move into my section of the tent, and pull the curtain closed behind me. On my cot is an outfit of white and blue silk, with the Beauxbatons emblem over the right breast pocket. I set about undressing with shaking hands, folding up my skirt and my blazer with weak fingers. The pants of this training outfit are fitting at the top, but they flare out generously towards the bottom, and I make a note to attempt not to trip over them in my anxiety. I pull on the snug tank-top that is available to me, and then quickly slip into the spacious- and, thankfully, insulated- jacket. Next, I step into my sturdy boots, and tie them tightly, before securing my hair into a low ponytail, like Madame instructed. I have some trouble pulling on my fingerless gloves, because I'm shaking so much, but I manage, and then pull the separating curtain back. Everyone is in much the same positioning as before, so I step back into my little room, and sit on a stool in the corner, concentrating on not being nauseous.

With a sick thud of regret, I suddenly I wish that I had written Mama back, even though her last letter was so angry. What if I don't make it out of this task? What if I die and she has to go the rest of her life thinking- Shut up, Fleur. Just shut up. I swallow hard, pressing my hands together, trying to hide all the signs of nervousness from those around me.

"Harry- Good man, come right on in," Monsieur Bagman booms, and I look up. Harry is, indeed, walking into the room, looking every bit as nervous as I feel. "Now that you're all here, I can fill you in!" Bagman announces, but none of us move to stand around him- Cedric manages to stop pacing.

A fresh wave of fearful nauseousness takes hold of me, and I realize, again, that this is real.

Monsieur Bagman begins to talk again, "As soon as the audience has arrived I'll pass around this bag to each of you-" he holds up a silken black bag for us to see. "You'll each collect... er- _something_ different- from it, and that will determine- ah- an aspect of this task," he smiles a little shakily. "Oh- and the object of this task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

Collect the golden egg?

Cedric gives him a curt nod, and then goes back to pacing. Harry walks around the room awkwardly, choosing to stand by the refreshment table we've been given. Viktor doesn't move at all, aside from the muscle twitching in his neck as his jaw clenches and unclenches. I remain on my stool, staring at the light wood matting that is on the floor.

My whole body is vibrating with nervousness, and I wonder if everyone else can see it as clearly as I feel it. I grasp my wand against my leg, and then loosen my grip, afraid I'll snap it in half. Remembering a little technique my Tante Lise told me about to help me with my nervousness the first time I left for Beauxbatons, I inhale deeply, and then hold my breath. With my breath caught inside of me, I can feel and hear my heart beating quickly, and I almost feel as if I have more control now that I know exactly where it is in my body. My shaking increases, just a little, and I feel my lungs burning for oxygen. When I exhale, my whole body slumps, my hearts slows a little, and my shaking is eased for a moment. I feel just slightly better, but it's enough for me to keep my head screwed on and to realize that I can do this.

I _can_ do this.

I manage to keep my doubts at bay. That is, until I hear the other students passing by the tent, heading into the enclosure. The excitement and easiness that floods their banter and their laughing voices makes me tense up again. It reminds me that I'm separate from them- that we champions have to face this, and that the rest of the students are safe and happy, with nothing to worry about. To my dismay, I remember that I entered myself into this competition. I could have avoided all of this.

"All right then," Monsieur Bagman says, nearly bounding into the center of the tent, holding the bag out, as if this signifies we should join him. We do, forming a circle, with him at the top, and he holds the bag to me. "Ladies first- Miss Dellacore?"

I can't be bothered with his horrible accent- Instead, I just reach into the opened bag.

Something nips at my finger, and I feel a puff of heat on my nails. What on earth- My skin comes in contact with something rough and scaly, and I gasp a little, causing poor Harry Potter to jump a little. Finally, I manage to grab hold of a smooth, dragon tail, and my hand retreats from the bag. I drop the body into my free palm.

The dragon sitting there is a light, leafy green, with a yellowish underbelly. It's got angry looked clawed feet, with flaps of skin webbing out between the toes. The head attached to the long neck is narrow, with a mouth full of sharp teeth, staring little eyes, and curved horns out the back. It stares up at me, and then growls, allowing a small burst of fire to issue from its mouth. The fire diminishes almost immediately, but the thing rears back on my palm. It is now that I see it has a little sign, with the number two on it, around its neck.

"The Welsh Green," Bagman announces, as if I didn't know. "Very good."

He turns from me, and holds the bag out for Viktor. For a moment I stare at my little dragon, watching as it glares and hisses and shakes its head restlessly at me. What do I know about the Common Welsh Green? What can I do to get past this to a golden egg?

Viktor's chosen a deep-red Chinese Fireball, which is all angular bones and heat, with a number three around its neck, and a nasty habit for coughing jets of fire. He keeps it in his hand and moves to sit back down on his cot. I stray a little ways from Harry, Cedric, and Bagman, staring at my Welsh Green. I rack my brain for anything I might have learned about this type of dragon. Did Cedric mention anything when I asked him to read to me? Ummmmm... There was something about the Welsh Green being particularly tame, unless defending its nest or its mate. Well, that would be the point of the egg, wouldn't it? So my 'tame' Green will be firey and defensive.

"Mr. Diggory, the Swedish Short-Snout," Bagman says, and I look over to see Cedric holding a little teal-gray dragon, stretching its wings, bowing to him in a defensive pose. This one has the number one around its neck. Bagman continues on, "And Mr. Potter," he holds the bag out to Harry, who reaches into it with a trembling hand. When his hand appears again, he's holding a spiky little dragon with the number four around it's neck. "The Hungarian Horntail," Bagman says, as if a frightened awe has come over him.

Is the Hungarian Horntail more dangerous than the Common Welsh Green? Urgh- I wish I knew more about dragons.

"Well, there you are," Bagman says, smiling widely. "You have each chosen the dragon you will be facing in this task, and with it, the order in which you will be facing your dragon."

Second? I'm going second, after Cedric? I hold my breath again, willing away the harsh anxiety. I should have guessed that's what the number two on my Welsh Green meant.

Bagman barrels on, "I've got to be off- I'm commentating, you see- So, Mr. Diggory, when you hear the cannon, and then your name, you'll come into the enclosure through an entryway directly across from the entrance to the tent. Got it?" Cedric gives him a curt nod, swallowing hard. "Well- Good luck then, champions!" and he's left the tent.

Within minutes I hear Monsieur Bagman, his voice proud and jubilant, followed by the sound of a crowd shrieking and clapping. I don't have a head to translate what Bagman's saying, but by the tone of his voice, I can tell he's introducing the task, hyping up the excitement. I'm sitting in my stool again, my dragon having vanished into thin air only moments ago, feeling myself getting edgier and edgier. Suddenly, the sound of a canon goes off, and the noise that emits from the crowd is deafening. Cedric looks around the room, his amber eyes flighty and nervous, meeting mine, and I try to wish him luck, but the words won't come out. I hope he can read my eyes. He makes his way toward the exit of the tent, and then he hears Monsieur Bagman say, "So, first, let's have Mr. Diggory, for Hogwarts!" and he quickly steps out of our little sanctuary.

The next person to step out of that tent will be me.

* * *

I've lost track of time. Has an hour past- ten minutes? sixty seconds? I don't know anymore. I just know that as soon as Cedric entered the enclosure, with the crowd cheering and clapping and screaming for him, I couldn't bear to be still anymore. Pacing around the length of the tent, my strides long and hurried, is the only thing that's keeping me from lashing at the canvas walls of this shelter, tearing them down, throwing stools, overturning beds. It's like my restlessness has reaches its peak, and I almost can't bear it.

The angry roar of a dragon- the Swedish Short-Snout- echoes in the afternoon and I jump a little, pacing even faster. A collective gasp of horror, and a shriek or two of fright, reaches our tent from the enclosure. What's happened- Oh _mon Dieu_, what's happened?! Focus, Fleur! Focus! What's Bagman saying? Translate!

"...wasn't sure where he wuzgingwiddat one!" I can't make out all of the words. "Taking the hits for this task- Budeezedillgodoo get the egg!"

What does that mean? 'Taking the hits for this task?' I wonder if I was able to see what's going on- if that would make me feel better. Another loud gasp from the audience. Probably not.

I pass by Viktor's little room in the tent, where he's sitting down, muttering something under his breath, seeming focused. Is he preparing himself? Oh- I should probably be figuring this out, preparing myself as well. When I pass him he looks up at me, stops muttering, and gives me a little smile, one that's strained and nervous. I try to return this, but instead, give him a lopsided twitch of the lips and a slight widening of the eyes. I think he understands though, and I continue to pace.

Suddenly, the applause and cheering from the crowd is so loud that I know Cedric's finally managed to get the golden egg. I feel myself sigh a little, but then tense up again. Now it's my turn. Now _I_ have to get that golden egg.

Bagman talks some more, I think I hear 'scores' but I can't listen to make sure if that's what it is. Either way, I wouldn't want to hear Cedric's scores before I go out- they'll probably throw me off.

Before I know it, I hear, "And now, Miss Delacour for Beauxbatons!"

I'm shaking- almost violently- as I leave the tent. I suck in a deep breath of cold air in the few steps between the tent and the enclosure. Holding this breath, I make my way through the entryway, and into the enclosure. I'm not surprised to see it's circular- filled with large, dampened rocks, and thick, pebbled dirt. Rising up, all around this enclosure, are stands, filled with faces looking down on me. I see the distinct pale blue of the Beauxbatons girls, clustered and scattered all around, and my anxiety increases tenfold. If I fail, they're all here to watch it. But there's cheering- loud, causing the ground below me to vibrate a little- for me. This boosts my confidence a little, and I take a step further- but I stop when I see her.

The Welsh Green is standing over a mound of boulders. On the top of this mound, is a circular configuration of smoother rocks, and, within this, are several eggs. One of them is made of liquid-gold. It glints across the enclosure, even though the sky is overcast and gray, like a beacon or a warning. The dragon doesn't seem to notice that the egg isn't her own, and she crouches low, her whip-like tail poised, as if ready to strike. Her eyes- pools of yellow with slits of black- glare at me, and a low, guttural rumbling sound emanates from her chest. She's warning me. _I won't shoot fire at you, stomp on you, eat you, or bite you, if you go away now_. I want to respond. _Sorry, but I need that egg to win.  
_  
I take another step forward, and she opens her mouth, letting a real roar shake the stands, freezing me for a moment.

Thinking that I can just walk around her, grab the egg, and saunter away, unscathed, is entirely unrealistic. What can I do? I don't move for a moment, and Bagman says something I can't make out. Mon Dieu- Viktor and I talked about this- talked about so many different ways of stalling a dragon- ideas that we dismissed. I liked one, I thought it was possible and easy enough- Yes!

Put her to sleep.

I know the charm- Mama used to do it for Gabrielle when she was a baby. She would cry for hours because she was so tired, but couldn't get to sleep because she wouldn't stop crying. I've only done it once before- in my fourth year at Beauxbatons- but I'm not sure if I can do it again. When I did it the first time, it was quickly, and our teacher only went over it with us once because we had to get to a whole curriculum of charms by the end of the year. So, can I do it now?

The crowd is hushed around me. Bagman isn't talking anymore either. They're waiting. They're waiting for me.

I take my wand out, inching closer to the dragon. She bears her teeth, crouching lower as I make my way around piles of rock and dirt. I get closer now, and she arches her long neck up, positioning her head so she's looking down on me, even though she's still a great many feet away. Without warning, she screams, sounding like a human-being dying- beautifully so- and lets a jet of fire shoot from under her tongue. I see the fire coming, and my defenses kick in. I duck behind a cluster of rocks to my left- smashing my shoulder against an edge as I do so- before I can get scorched, hearing the dragon roaring at me still. It's a beautiful, melodious warning- one that I can't heed, even if I wanted to.

Peering from behind the rock, ignoring the throbbing in my shoulder, I realize that I have to do this now, or else I'll lose my eyebrows, and possibly all of my skin.

I stand up, rotate my shoulder a little- biting my tongue at the painful strain I receive for doing so- and begin walking toward her slowly, my steps like languid dancing, my eyes frozen on her mouth.

She stares at me, her head cocked to the side, trying to figure me out. Just like Gabrielle would do when Mama would walk slowly toward her crib, her steps like a hypnotic dance. And just like our mother would do, I slowly raise my wand, as if it's part of the dance. Slowly, but clearly, and loud enough for the dragon and the people closest to the enclosure to hear, I say, "_Appono Somnus!_"

Nothing happens yet.

In order for the charm to work, I have to clear my head, and think only about things that will put one to sleep. But- will this work on dragons? What makes a dragon sleepy? Don't think about, Fleur. Instead, I work on clearing my mind, ignoring the rumbling in the the dragon's chest. When my mind is as blank as it can get it right now, I think of myself as a dragon, about being heavy with sleep. I can just imagine my scaly eyelids getting droopy, my limbs hanging, my tail falling, head lowering. As I think about it, a ribbon of pale blue and silver inches out of my wand. It crosses the space between the dragon and I, circling around her. She doesn't fight it, her eyes lower, and her body bends forward. I think about lowering my massive dragon body onto a cool patch of soft grass, my arms folding under me, my heart-rate lowering. Adding a light breeze, and the delicious relief of closing my eyes and giving myself up to sleep, manages to force the Green to lie down completely. Before she can fight it, her eyes are closed, and she's breathing heavily.

I don't move yet. She could very well wake up if my charm isn't strong enough.

Bagman is whispering his commentary now, and the whole audience seems to be holding its breath.

The dragon begins to snore, and I know she's completely under. The ribbon of blue and silver retracts itself into my wand, and I sigh.

"She's done it! Miss Fleur Delacour has put the dragon to sleep!" Bagman shouts, and the whole crowd erupts into cheers. The dragon is unfazed by the noise, she's too far into the sleeping trance.

Even though I know she won't wake up, I creep forward, afraid to move too quick, or too loudly. For a fleeting second, I feel smug satisfaction. That'll show Angele and Laure. I can take on a dragon. I am capable. I can do this. I just might be able to win this tournament-

The dragon's snore stutters, and a jet of flame shoots out from her mouth. It's took quick for me to get out of the way, and it catches the bell-bottom of my pants. The fire licks at the silken fabric, and I hear the unified gasp and shriek from the crowd. Bagman says something, but, once again, I'm not paying him any attention. Instinctively, I reach toward the flame, thinking to pat it out or something, but it's too hot. I'm still holding my wand- of course!

Pointing the wand at the flame that's eating at the material, I shout, "_Aguamenti!_" and the water that splashes out of my wand kills the fire.

This gains me more cheering, and I smile in relief. Sure, there's a gaping hole in the bottom of my left pant-leg, and it's ripped part of the side seam, but I'm not thinking about fashion. No, I'm thinking about the rest of this task, about finishing what I'm in this dragon enclosure to do. I still have to get the golden egg.

I'm only a few feet from her head now, and I stare at her. Eyes still closed, snoring rhythmic, I know she's out, so I creep forward, my whole body trembling, my heart racing. Terrified or not, I've never been next to a creature so dangerous and beautiful. The Welsh Green's scales reflect my face in them, shimmering with little prisms of color, even though it's so clearly light green. And her horns are menacing, but they're elegant too. Making it out like I'm watching her for any signs of rousing, I stand a good few feet from her, staring, appreciating her beauty and immensity.

The audience begins to chant. It's hushed, but they're all doing it together, so I can most definitely hear it.

"Fle-ur! Fle-ur! Fle-ur! Fle-ur!"

This shakes me out of my reverie and, with one last glance to make sure she's asleep, I launch myself forward. The chanting gets louder, and I skid against the pebbles, up the mound of rocks, and stand over the nest of eggs. Without hesitating, I snatch up the golden egg, and hurry down the little mound again, slipping slightly. Without looking back, my adrenaline pitches upward, and I'm running away from the Welsh Green, flying around and over boulders, my ears picking up each cheer and clap and shriek and boo that emits from the audience. Within a minute, I'm running out of the enclosure, into the space between the tent and the entryway, panting. A broad smile is spread across my face, and my heart is flying happily.

Professor McGonagall marches over to me, looking pleased, but nervous, as she tries to smile at me.

"Miss Delacour," she says. "Come with me- You've got to get your scores."

I nod, following her around the enclosure and through another doorway. We go up a set of stairs and then she leads me onto a little hidden balcony. We're surrounded by teachers above and around us. I'm still shaking, my body humming with excitement and relief. The smile is still stretching my lips, and I'm clutching my egg as if my life depends on it.

McGonagall says, "The judges are over there," and points across the enclosure. I see the judges, sitting in seats of gold, raised above the rest of the audience.

"And now, Miss Delacour's scores," Bagman says, and the audience quiets.

Madame Maxime raises her wand, and out shoots two ribbons of silver. One of them is a one, the other is a zero. She's given me a ten! Next is Monsieur Crouch, and he twitches and fidgets before raising his wand. A seven. Dumbledore smiles and raises his wand, allowing it to reveal a ribbony number nine. Nine! I'm nearly bouncing on my heals. Bagman himself gives me a six, and smiles sheepishly when there's a bit of hissing from a few members of the audience. Last is Karkaroff, and he gives me a five. I'm not at all phased by that though, he's spent so much time forcing Viktor into training that I knew he would be a poor judge for the rest of us.

"And the score for Miss Delacour is thirty-seven," Bagman announces. "Meaning that so far, our Beauxbatons champion is in the lead."

The crowd roars deafeningly.

Have I heard him correctly? I'm in the lead? I'm winning so far? Is this even possible?

McGonagall says, "Miss Delacour you'll want to go to Madam Pomfrey, I think your leg's been burned."

"Oh, yes," I say absently, looking down to see that, yes, my leg is angry red and blistering slightly.

I make my way back down the stairs and into the afternoon gray. There's a second tent I hadn't noticed before, set up beside the first one. Walking on a cloud of happiness, I make my way to the entrance. My egg is still cradled in my arms when the Hogwarts nurse ushers me inside. This tent is also set up into little rooms, and I pass the first one, seeing Cedric sitting up on a cot. The side of his face is covered in an orange spread, like he's been burned, but he smiles at me when I pass.

"All right there, Fleur?"

I smile uncontrollably, saying, "I am pairfect!" he laughs a little at this, and I'm very much pushed along by Madam Pomfrey.

"Now, what's happened to you, Miss Delacour?" she asks me once she's pushed me down onto my own bed.

I pull up the remainder of my pitiful pant-leg, saying, "I 'ave been burned, I zink." And I remember my shoulder. "And I zink my shoulder eez saig- bleeding."

"Yes, you're right on both accounts," she nods as she removes my jacket, peers at my leg, and begins to move about the tent. "Dragons- Fire-breathing dragons!" she mutters to herself. "Ridiculous!"

When she returns into my little room, it's with a pot of orange goo, like the kind on Cedric's face, and I cringe. It smells nice though, like citrus and pine, and burns, but only slightly, when she spreads it around my leg.

"You haven't been burned half as badly as Mr. Diggory has, though," she tells me. "The poor boy's face got hit clear by that dragon's fire."

"Are you all right, Cedreek?" I call, because we're only separated by a piece of canvas.

"Don't worry," Madam Pomfrey says. "He'll still be beautiful tomorrow."

From the other side of the canvas, Cedric calls, "Oh Madam Pomfrey, stop it- You're making me blush!"

She clucks her tongue, but I can see she is charmed by his humor.

Well, that makes two of us.

* * *

"Fleur, you've been lying," Cedric says from where he sits on his stool. "How does my face _really_ look?"

Cedric and Viktor are sitting on the cot, and I'm sitting on the stool in Cedric's section of our tent, talking and laughing while we wait for Harry to get healed and receive his scores. We've been sitting like this ever since Viktor returned from Madam Pomfrey's tent, when Harry was out in the enclosure. We couldn't be acting more different than we had been behaving an hour ago if it was a different day. The atmosphere of the tent had been so tense, heavy and frightening, before the task, and now we're all joking and laughing, our golden eggs at our sides, as if we haven't been through a tremendous amount of stress today. Even though we're competing with one another, and the scores have been tallied (with Harry and Viktor tied for first, me in second, and Cedric in third) we're still managing to have fun and enjoy each other's company.

I dramatically wince in response to Cedric's question, "You look juste fine."

Cedric, whose burns were far worse than mine, still has to wear the orange goop on his face- while I had mine wiped off before Madam Pomfrey let me go. To my dismay though, my shoulder still aches, even if the scrapes have been cleaned and healed, the muscle is strained.

"Viktor," Cedric turns to him, his face serious, but his eyes joking and amused. "How do I look?"

"You are to be looking awful," he replies with a straight face. "You can never be a Quidditch equipment model now," he says, as if it's tragic, and we all burst into laughter.

Harry walks into the room and stands by the entryway, talking with a red-haired boy and a bushy-haired girl. He glances at us, looking as if he believes we're part of an exclusive club he's not allowed into. I almost want to smile and invite him over, but Monsieur Bagman bounces into the tent, all smiles. Standing in the center of the tent, he tells us to gather round. Harry's two friends disappear, and he moves to stand before Bagman, as we all do.

Smiling like a fool, Bagman says, "Congratulations- to all of you! You've certainly done a fine job by each of your schools!" His smile widens- if possible- and he continues, "I'll let you go- but just a few words on the second task."

I'd all but forgotten about the second task.

"You have until half past nine on the morning of February twenty-fourth- but you'll certainly need all the time until then!" he chuckles, as if at his own private joke. "You'll find that your eggs will open to reveal a clue- one that you will need in order to succeed in your next task." He looks around, to see if we've all reacted, and then he asks, "Got it?"

We nod.

I clutch my egg tighter, if possible.

Bagman nods to himself, still grinning, "Very good- You're free to go then!"

Harry nearly darts out of the tent, but the rest of us linger, even after Bagman leaves. Karkaroff eventually comes in and drags Viktor away, but by that time Cedric and I are already heading for the door. I've got my clothes from earlier this morning under my arm, and my egg pressed between both of my hands. Cedric is also holding his egg, peering at it a little.

"What do you suppose the clue is?" he asks me.

I shake my head, "I 'ave not ze smallest idea."

"We'll have to figure it out soo-"

"FLEUR!"

I have only a fraction of a second to turn my head before Gabrielle is barreling into me for the second time today. Before she can plow into the egg I raise it above my head, and she throws herself around my middle. Cedric laughs as my clothes fall out from under my raised arms, but then bends down to gather them for me. I send him a grateful look, and peer down at Gabrielle.

She's babbling away in French, "I was so scared- I thought the dragon was awake! And then you caught fire! But you're not burned are you? Oh, Fleur! I was so frightened that you would be killed!"

"Gabrielle," I say softly. "I'm fine- and I'm in second place!" I grin down at her when she looks up. "I told you that you didn't need to worry!"

She backs away and looks up at me in wonder, "C'est vrai! You are in second place!"

I pass the egg into one hand, take my clothes from Cedric, and hand them to Gabrielle, saying, "Hold these for me until we get to the tower."

"This is your sister, Fleur?" Cedric asks.

"Yes! Forgeeve me for not eentroducing you!" I say. "Cedreek, zees eez my leetle seester, Gabrielle." I switch to French, "Gabrielle, this is Cedric."

"It's nice to meet you," Cedric says, but Gabrielle ducks behind me, giving a shy smile, before hiding completely.

Cedric chuckles, "I'll leave you two, then- I have to make an appearance for my fans anyway," he jokes, giving me a crooked smile. "I'll see you, Fleur- Au revoir, Gabrielle," he slips into French for her and my heart swells with appreciation.

He walks away and I call, "See you, Cedreek!"

When he's completely out of earshot, Gabrielle whispers, "He's handsome."

I choose to not say anything to this as we start walking back toward the castle.

"I can't believe you're second, Fleur!" she shrieks within two seconds of my silence. "You could win this whole tournament!"

I try not to smile as I think to myself, _I could_.

**Author's Note:** I know it was absurdly long- and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing (you're welcome, or, I'm sorry). Also, I'm not sure if anyone's going to be angry that Fleur was so incredibly nervous, but I mean- wouldn't you be that nervous? Anyway, there's going to be a lovely bit of Cedric/Fleur fluff at the beginning of the next chapter. Nothing hot and heavy, but it's going to get the romance on its feet. Clue for said fluff: Gee, I really wish they were making this fan fiction into a movie so Clemence Poesy and Robert Pattinson (swoon) could run into each other in a bathroom. And that's all the information on that. Thanks for reading! Reviewing is always appreciated!


	18. Backlash

**Author's Note:** Glad no one was opposed to the length of the last chapter! And hope everyone enjoys this chapter as well- there's Cedric/Fleur, as promised!**  
**

**Chapter Eighteen  
Backlash**

The night of the first task gives us an extravagant feast. Though the food is still tremendously heavy- maybe even more so than usual- I don't mind eating it so much. They've offered us the most mouthwatering arrays of entrees and sides, all artfully configured to make the most delicious meals we've had since our arrival. Nothing is particularly French, but for English cooking, it's pretty good. And to make things even better, we're offered desserts that make my teeth ache just looking at them.

Girls from Beauxbatons surround me during the meal, with Gabrielle at my side. They ask me if I was terrified, what the dragon was like up close, how I knew the sleeping charm, what I was going to do if I won- things like that. I give a retelling of the task once- including how I felt, and what I had done- and then steer the conversation onto different topics when it continues to be brought up. Some Ravenclaws- though they clearly support Cedric or Harry- ask me to tell my story in English, figuring that a champion's account of the task is better than nothing at all. Besides, Cedric and Harry are at different tables, and there's no chance they'll hear them from here unaided. But one Ravenclaw in particular, I notice, does not listen in.

Cho Chang.

She glances toward my end of the table once or twice, looking as if she wouldn't mind sitting over here. Why doesn't she just sit with us? I wonder briefly. And then I realize that she's sitting with Laure and Angele- the only Beauxbatons students who are blatantly avoiding me. They both look as if they've got a bad taste in their mouths, and they demand Cho's attention every time she glances away.

When the table's attention has been more firmly directed on the mountainous desserts, I tell everyone that I think I'm going to take a bath, and I leave the Great Hall. Madame has given me permission to use one of the nicer bathrooms on the floor of the Tour de Terreur's common room. It's not technically for us, but she said it would be fine if I decided to use it. And it's far better than the ridiculous bathroom we have in our tower, so I might as well take advantage of this opportunity- especially while everyone's still preoccupied with eating.

After I go into the dormitory and grab my things- checking on the egg, hidden under my bed, only twice- and make my way along the hallway, finally finding the beautiful bathroom. I approach the door and say the password as Madame instructed, "Bubble blast," and the door gives, so I step inside.

Now, _this_ is what I'm talking about.

This bathroom is something that's more up to Beauxbatons standards. It's made of soft, white marble, with a beautiful stained-glass window of a mermaid in the far wall. In the center of the room is an enormous tub, nearly my height in depth, and the size of a small swimming pool in perimeter. Golden taps run along the length of the pool, with different-colored jewels on their handles.

Whose bathroom _is_ this? I mean- Is it for the teachers? Or the Hogwarts students themselves? Have they given us a horrible bathroom because we're guests? Or because we're French?

Honestly, I don't care who this bathroom belongs to. My body is aching, my muscles strained and tense. I haven't had a proper bath since last night, and I'm still sticky with remaining perspiration and dirt from the task. I should have washed up sooner, but I had been so sidetracked by people talking to me, and then by Madame giving me some kind of speech about pride and proving Beauxbatons is worth something. She mentioned this bathroom then- maybe as a hint that I needed to bathe. Whatever the case, I'm still feeling grimy. And I'm also freezing.

Lowering down my robe and my change of clothes by the steps of the bath, I walk around it and turn on four large faucets on each side. Then, I peer at the little gold taps. Choosing the one with a sort-of amethyst on it, I turn it and watch as the water mixes with thick, lush goo. The water filling the tub instantly foams with bubbles and the relaxing scent of lavender and roses rises up from the bath. I nearly sigh in contentment at the wonderful idea of being submerged in the tub.

As the water continues to run, I undress from my uniform and fold everything up, dropping my things by my clean clothes. When I've finished, I turn the water off, marveling at how quickly it filled the huge tub, and lower myself down the steps of the bath.

The water is so deliciously warm and my body so tired and achy, that I'm falling off of my feet before I've even reached the bottom of the steps. But the water catches me, and I float on a cloud of warm lavender. The goose-bumps that had taken permanent residence all over my skin since arriving at Hogwarts disappear as soon as the water surrounds me. It's as if I'm covered in a blanket of sweet-smelling warmth that manages to heat my body, all the way through my bones. The muscles that were tight with anxiety and abuse are even loosened and relaxed by the mixture of the temperature, the lightness I feel, and the lavender. Even the muscles in my injured shoulder and the healing burn on my leg don't mind this. On the contrary, my task injuries feel completely better for the first time today.

I actually sigh out loud from contentment.

Once I've lounged long enough (for how long, I do not know) I dip my head under the water and submerge myself completely. My hair- which had looked fine, but had begun to _feel_ stringy and grimy during dinner- fans out around my head, light and soft. While I'm under, I also rub my face with my hands, feeling even my facial muscles go tired and calm. Running my hands through my exceptionally clean hair, I resurface feeling as if I've just scrubbed my locks with soap for an hour.

My mind is so at ease, and my body so relaxed, that I float around the whole tub, smiling, humming. Only when I've done four or five lazy laps, do I start singing silly magical songs about avoiding woods during a full moon and keeping your pixies under lock-and-key, that all kids learn when they're little... At least, they learned those songs in France. Either way, I'm giggling and singing and floating and sighing for more than an hour or so.

It's probably the first time I've been so easy and content since arriving at Hogwarts.

* * *

The mirror in the bathroom is within a huge, gilt-frame made of gold. It rests atop the shell-shaped sink that's adorned with little wrapped soaps and candles. This is near the toilet and the closet filled with extra towels, that are located in a little room that opens onto the main room with the tub. The mirror is bigger and clearer than the ones we have in our bathroom, and I take advantage of it.

Who knows how long I stand in front of my reflection, drying my hair and inhaling the lingering smell of lavender. By the time my hair is dry though, the sky outside is dark and I'm sure that the feast has been long over.

Hastily- dressed now in my soft, fluffy pants and matching sweater- I gather my things and leave the little room, entering into the bigger one.

A scream erupts from my throat when I find someone standing beside the tub.

When I have time to think, I see that it's only Cedric. He's in flannel pajama bottoms, and a bathrobe that is partially open, to reveal a generous expanse of chest- Eyes, Fleur. Look in his eyes. His hands are up in a defensive pose, and he's looking just as surprised as I am.

"What are you doing 'ere?" I demand, my hand pressed to my chest to still my now-frantic heart.

He puts his hands down, "Me? This is the _prefects'_ bathroom!" he says. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Madame said I could use it for tonight," I say, feeling somewhat scolded.

Cedric sniffs the air, looking away, and then back at me, smirking, "Is that- Lavender?"

"Yes," I say shortly. "Mais- 'ow did you get een 'ere? Zere eez no charm to preevent zat?"

He glances behind himself, at the door, and then back at me, saying, "There's a bolt on the door."

Oh.

"Well, zat eez- Zat eez vairy _muggelle_ of zem," I say, frustrated and nervous again.

My heart is still beating quickly, even though I know it's only Cedric in the bathroom, and not a murderer, or Jean-Pierre. Maybe that's _why_ my heart is still beating so rapidly. He _is_ smirking at me, making my stomach drop and my knees go weak. Regrettably, I remember Viktor's words, 'You make eyes at him!' and I look away, trying to not make eye-contact.

I walk around him and move toward the door, saying, "I weel leave you for your baz-"

"Fleur," he calls.

Turning, with my heart pitching forward like a wild hippogriff, I try to swallow past the dryness in my mouth, saying, "Yes?"

"Thanks- For warning me about the dragons," he says, still smirking.

My eyes flicker down to his bare chest- zut! Stop it, Fleur!

Hoping I don't seem flustered, I say, "Mais, I zought 'arry told you about ze dragons."

"He did," Cedric replies. "But you asked me to read you the book first, and you told me I was supposed to pay close attention to it."

I _was_ trying to inadvertently warn him, but I wonder if he's just trying to be nice by thanking me. I mean, Harry _did_ come right out and tell him what was going on.

I smile anyway, because if he is just being nice, or if he really is grateful, it evokes a smile from me either way, and I say, "De rien."

At my accidental French response, and my wincing at it afterward, Cedric's smile grows, still crooked.

I start to say good night, but he speaks first, "You know," he looks away, as if he's just gotten shy. When he looks back, he says, "When you first asked me to read the dragon book to you, I thought it was because you just wanted an excuse to talk to me."

"Why would I need an excuse to talk to you?" I ask, truly confused.

He smirks, "Would it be too proud if I said it was because I thought you liked me?"

Did Viktor set this up? Except- Cedric's completely serious. I don't reply, and my silence seems to make his smile falter. But- I mean- Gah! I don't know what to say to that! If it was any other boy I would say, 'Oui! That is too proud of you!' and I'd sweep out of the room, leaving him ashamed, with a fatally wounded pride. But this is _Cedric_! I can't say that to Cedric- especially when it could very well be true that I like him! But I _don't_ make eyes at him. Viktor's not right about that.

I don't know if it's the Veela in me, or the fact that I need to leave the room because my heart is racing so fast that it might explode, but, something alien makes me say the next things that come out of my mouth.

"Non, zat would not be proud at all," I say, giving him a coy smile before finally leaving the bathroom.

* * *

I'm still smiling when I return to the tower. In particular, I don't know why I'm so happy, but, I can't keep the smile off of my face. Until I reach the common room, that is. It's empty, which means everyone is already in the dormitory. For some reason this leaves me unsettled, and I ascend the staircase cautiously.

Upon entering the room, dozens of eyes turn to me, and everyone falls completely silent.

Then, slowly and quietly at first, cheering erupts around me. I walk forward, watching as shining faces smile back at me. I'm not sure exactly how to respond to this. Do I bow? Do I wave like a queen greeting her people? I settle for smiling modestly, making my way to my bed. Congratulations are shouted at me over the clapping as I put away my dirty clothes, with Gabrielle giggling as I thank everyone who speaks to me.

When everyone's quieted down though, and I've turned back to face the whole room, one particular face comes into view.

Angele's.

She's smirking at me, with narrowed eyes. Her dark hair is tightly pulled back into a ponytail, and her nostrils are flaring. With her arms crossed, and her footed jutted out, tapping the floor, she looks like a teacher waiting to reprimand her student. What has she go to say to me other than 'I was wrong. I'm a bitch and I need to learn to shut up?'"

"Well, well, well, Mademoiselle Champione," she says over the din of chatter, silencing the rest of the dormitory. "_Felicitations_ on not being killed by the dragon."

I smile with her, as if she's actually complimented me, and say, "Merci."

I'm not bothered by her comment. Angele is an attention-craving, ugly little bitch. I expected her to insult me about the Tournament, especially when it came to the tasks. I mean- I most certainly knew she wouldn't congratulate me or anything. So, really, this is no surprise to me- her only mentioning my surviving. However, the fact that I was so happy when I arrived at the tower, and now I have to deal with her tramping on my victory- That, in fact, does bother me.

"Second place though?" she continues, pouting with smiling eyes. "Couldn't you have done better for pauvre Beauxbatons?"

Second. Out of four!

Still smiling pleasantly, but with my blood curdling underneath my facade, I shrug.

She narrows her eyes further, and I can see the muscles tensing as she clenches her fists.

"_I_ wouldn't have put the dragon to sleep- I would have done something much more impressive. _I_ would have gotten Beauxbatons first place, and I wouldn't have tied with little Monsieur Potter, like that clod Viktor Krum."

Didn't she hear people cheering for me when I walked in? Doesn't she realize no one's backing her up except Laure, who's sitting on her bed, just watching this exchange?

I've never hated someone as much as I hate Angele. She's turned my once-upon-a-time best friend against me. She's convinced all of Beauxbatons that I tried to steal Jean-Pierre away. Veelas were nearly mentally blacklisted in the minds of our peers because of her stupid little scary story. She's even trying to make them think second place is a poor score in the run of things. I could smack her- I could- I could scratch up her face and feed her to the Welsh Green. Or I could...

"Yes, well, Viktor and I are actually _in_ the Tournament," I say sweetly. "So, whenever you're ready to get off your self-made pedestal, let the rest of the world know- Or better yet? Don't."

Her nostrils flare violently in response, and her fists are shaking, "Oui- but if it was illegal for _half-breeds_ to be in the Tournament, we know who would be champion right now."

Everyone freezes. Someone in the room gasps. I think I hear Gabrielle swallowing deeply. The awkwardness and horror of what she just said sets in around us, and it seeps under my fingernails, making them tingle. My hands feel hot, and I clench them into fists. I stare at her, allowing the electricity of her words to crackle violently in the air. She continues to smirk, satisfied with the reaction this statement has received.

"I may be a half-breed, Angele," I say, afraid my nearly-steady voice is going to crack as I speak. "But if being human, means being the same species as you, then I'm glad I'm part Veela."

She stares at me, her eyes now as narrow as slits, but I turn from her and sit on my bed, pulling out the egg- my security blanket, the reminder that I'm the one in the Tournament- from under it.

Suddenly the dormitory is a rush of action and words again. Everyone gathers around my bed- except for Angele and Laure, who are now whispering together on Laure's bed- asking if they can hold the egg, telling me to open it. They tell me I 'just can't' open the egg without everyone being able to see the clue. And their faces are so excited and hopeful, that I can't bear to turn them all away.

"Fleur- Ouvre l'oeuf!" Gabrielle says, pulling on my sleeve.

They're all nodding in agreement, "All right, calm down," I say briskly.

I had almost forgotten about the clue in the egg- what with my encounter with Cedric, and now this nonsense with Angele- but now I'm curious again. The excitement builds within my stomach and my chest, as I balance the egg on my lap. Everyone's holding their breath as I turn the little clasp at the crown of it, allowing the four glimmering halves of the egg to open up around it, like a flower blossoming. I only have a fraction of a second to get a look at the glassy egg that's been covered by the gold, looking like it's filled with bubbles of tinted-green and golden orange water. But I can't look at it too long, because suddenly a long, deafening screech explodes from the egg, immersing the whole room in earsplitting agony.

"Shut it! Shut it!" several of the girls command, and I fumble to clasp the egg closed.

When the noise is cut off, we all sigh and relax.

There's a moment of awkward tension as everyone pities me for having to figure out this unpleasant clue.

To quell this awkwardness, I say, "The egg almost sounds like Angele!"

The girls openly laugh at that, and Laure and Angele scowl at me from across the room.

One more battle won.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, during Muggle Studies, Mama enters my mind and I frown. I haven't written to her since her angry letter, and that feels like ages ago. It's not that I was mad at her in return- though, I was more hurt by it than angry- I just never knew what to write exactly. But, I'm sure she's heard about the date of the first task by now- whether it was through Papa's Ministerial pulls, or through the papers. Either way, I decide that I have to write to her, and I do so during Madame Burbage's lecture.  
_  
Mama et Papa,_

_I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about my wanting to enter the Tournament. I know it won't change anything, but I kept it from everyone. I can't explain why I did, but I'm sorry if I frightened or upset you. This Tournament was something I had to do- something I know I still have to do. And I'm glad I was chosen, even if you are both disappointed in me for it._

_The first task was yesterday. We had to get past a dragon and collect a golden egg it was guarding. I faced a Common Welsh Green, and put her to sleep in order to get my egg. Harry Potter and Viktor Krum tied for first place, I received second, and Cedric Diggory was third. I know it probably upsets you to hear about me facing dragons, but I was_ good_! Madame says I've done the school justice, and that I should be proud of myself. I truly hope you're proud of me too._

_Mama, Papa, I can do this. I know I handled entering and being chosen, in a way that displeased you, but- s'il vous plait- have faith in me. I'm capable of winning this tournament. I'm not delicate and beautiful, I'm a champion now, and I'll prove that to both of you. S'il vous plait, just give me the chance to do that._

_Now, I'm asking for your forgiveness and understanding. I love you both, and I'm sorry I upset you, but I'm not sorry that I entered, or that I made it into this competition. Please understand how I feel. Your support is important to me. Je vous adore!_

_Fleur_

* * *

Before Advanced Potions on Thursday, Cedric approaches me in the hall outside of the classroom, as we wait for Snape to arrive. I'm afraid that Cedric will mention the slight hint towards my attraction to him- the one I made in the bathroom- but he doesn't broach the subject at all. He gives me a little smirk when I make eye-contact with him as he approaches me- and it's a smirk that reveals the little secret we share. But, merci a mon Dieu!, he doesn't actually _say_ anything about it.

Instead, he talks about the Tournament.

"Have you opened the egg yet?" he asks.

I ignore all the people watching us curiously, saying, "Oui- and you?"

He nods, then grimaces.

I nod in agreement, "'orrible! 'ow are we meant to comprehend eet, eef we are not able to even leesten to eet?"

Comprehend it? Is that right? Why does English exist? Whose sick joke was this language?

Cedric understands though, and he shakes his head, "I don't know- I thought about trying to break it or crack it or something, but I don't want to ruin my clue," he jokes.

"Zat would probablement not be vairy good," I smile. "Per'aps we are meant to leesten to eet unteel it does somezing else zen shriek."

He ponders this, "But what if it never stops shrieking? What if is makes us go mad instead?" he bulges his eyes at me a little, as if to illustrate insanity.

The look on his face is so amusing that I end up giggling. I detest giggling, especially when girls do it around boys but- I can't help it! And in response to my laugh, Cedric gives me a crooked grin, looking down on me intensely.

The way his eyes are bearing down into mine- the way it makes me feel- reminds me of the talk we had about dragons in the hallway, when Dumbledore's appearance forced me to leave him early. But I remember how close we were standing, almost touching, and how my whole body was buzzing with a thrill, how my heart was pounding deliciously. I want to be closer to him, without even understanding why. I restrain myself though. Then Cedric takes a step forward, making the edges of my body tingle, and his grin makes my stomach flop around like an airborne fish. I'm still smiling from his joke, and from the way he's looking at me and moving towards me. Then I realize I'm looking at him through heavy lids-

Viktor was right! I am making eyes at him!

"Fleur, I was wondering-"

"IN!" Snape barks at the whole class, through the doorway, looking angry already. "Get in, right now, or you'll all be marked absent!"

Cedric and I have to shuffle inside, our conversation cut short.

As I take my seat, my heartbeat is thumping wildly. From his desk, Cedric looks back at me and our eyes meet for a moment. He gives me a little smile and faces forward. My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard. What is wrong with me? I've never felt like this about a boy. I'm not going to lie, it's wonderful, but- what does that mean, then?

**Author's Note:** No, I'm not living vicariously through Fleur because I have a crush on Robert Pattinson/Cedric Diggory. Maybe I am, a little. Shut up. Whatever. Haha! Hope you liked chapter eighteen! Reviewing is always greatly appreciated!


	19. Changing Plans

**Chapter Nineteen  
Changing Plans**

On Friday morning, Madame asks us to convene in the common room before going down to breakfast. So, we all find seats- with some girls having to sit on the floor- and wait for her to arrive. A few girls are grumbling about being hungry, some are annoyed that this is cutting into their getting-ready-time. Some are even peeved that they had to wake up earlier than they usually do, for one of Madame's announcements. I could care less either way, and I sit with Gabrielle on one of the couches, talking idly about the day ahead.

From across the room, Angele stage-whispers, "Maybe she's telling us that half-breeds are forbidden from the Tournament now," to Laure.

I don't give her any sign that I've actually heard her.

"Mes filles," Madame says, swooping into the room in robes of turquoise, trimmed in white feathers. "I have something to tell all of you."

We silent ourselves, looking solemn and anxious. Are we in trouble?

Madame smiles, "It's good news, girls!" She clasps her hands together and continues, "As a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts is hosting The Yule Ball."

We stare blankly at her.

"The Yule Ball is dance of sorts," she smiles. "It's a way for you all to further get to know your host students, and the boys of Durmstrang. It's a way for us to all celebrate together, between the first task and the second," she tells us. "You are allowed to attend, only if you're in your fourth year or older. And also, you must dress formally and appropriately."

Some girls giggle at this.

Madame ignores them, "You've all been conducting yourselves very well here at Hogwarts, and I expect this to continue- especially at The Yule Ball." She gives us a severe look, and then says, "D'accord?"

A bobbing of heads indicates that, yes, we understand, and Madame says, "Tres bien. Off you go then- Oh, Fleur, I need to speak with you for a moment in my office."

The rest of the girls begin to filter out of the room, but I follow Madame upstairs, and into the office that is now becoming familiar to me. She sits down at her desk and folds her hands.

"Fleur, it is tradition, that the champions of the Tournament open the ball. So, I'm expecting you to find a suitable young man for your dance partner, and wear something presentable," she smiles pleasantly, but sternly. "You'll be dancing with your partner, as will the rest of the champions and their partners, before anyone else, on Christmas night."

I stare at my headmistress for a moment, feeling disappointed.

Slowly, I say, "Madame, I understand that it's tradition but- I mean- I was hoping to go home for Christmas, like I usually do."

Madame shakes her head, "Non, ma belle, you must be here to open the ball, that's the way it works."

I certainly don't want to break Triwizard tradition, but I was so looking forward to going home and celebrating Christmas with my family. But, the ball does sound like fun. I could have Mama send over a dress from France, and I could get all dressed up. A smile creeps onto my lips- I can imagine Cedric in a tux, and dress robes and- Pace yourself. But, yes, this could be fun. I can stay for Christmas.

"D'accord, Madame," I say, smiling easily. "I'll be here."

She nods, pleased, "Tres bien." She gestures toward her door, "You may go."

I leave her office and make my way into the common room. Gabrielle is there waiting for me. I smile at her, and steer her out of the tower with me. She instantly asks me what Madame wanted, and if I'm in trouble. Then her eyes widen, and she wants to know if it was secret Tournament business.

I laugh, "Non, it was just about the ball- I have to open the dancing with a date, as do the rest of the champions."

Gabrielle's face falls, "You're going to The Yule Ball?"

"I'm a champion-"

"I thought we were going home for Christmas! I want to see Mama and Papa!" she takes a step away from me, her eyes wide with panic.

I try to calm her down, saying, "Gabrielle, I can't-"

"Non! If this stupid ball is so important to you than you go! I'll stay in the stupid tower with the other girls who can't go and we'll stare at each other all night," she stomps away from me, angry.

"Gabrielle!" I call after her, but she doesn't turn. "Gabrielle!"

Well, that was unnecessary. If she would just let me explain that I don't have a choice in the matter- that I would much rather go home with her than open up for this ball. Although, Cedric... I'm not even going to finish that thought.

"Fleur!"

I turn when I'm halfway down one of the staircases, on my way to the Great Hall. Viktor is behind me, and he hurries down the steps, walking down the rest of the way beside me.

Although I'm upset about this fight with Gabrielle, I smile at him, "Good morning."

"Did you open the-"

"Yes," I say, before he even has to ask. "'orrid leetle egg gave me a pain een ze 'ead."

He shakes his head, "Vat do you think shrieking is supposed to be meaning?"

We turn down a corridor, and I shrug, "Zat we going to suffer?"

He smiles at this, saying, "Have ve not been suffering enough?"

"'oo is suffering? Zose dragons were fun!" I say cheerfully, and we both end up laughing.

Then he says, "You heard of the Yule Ball, yes?"

I nod, "I 'ave juste fought wiz ma soeur about eet."

"Vy?"

"She eez upset parce'quelle zinks I do not weesh to go 'ome- zat I am choosing to stay for zis ball," I roll my eyes and grunt a little, shaking my head.

Viktor gives me a sympathetic smile, "You vill be able to be telling her that it is not being your fault."

"I 'ope."

* * *

I can just see it.

I'm dressed in a pale blue dress that goes straight down to the floor, and my hair's down my back, shimmering in the light of the Great Hall. My heart flutters violently as Cedric makes his way over to me, smiling- could it ever be anything other than that perfect crooked smirk?- and I nearly topple over I'm so excited. He's dressed in crisp, black dress robes, and his hair is neater than his usually slightly-messy locks.

"Fleur," he says, putting a hand out for me to take. "Will you dance with me?"

I smile demurely at him, saying, "Of course."

He sweeps me onto the dance floor and we're twirling and spinning and smiling and not talking and it's all so wonderful. Then he stops abruptly, looking down at me with those eyes, and the smirk, that sends my mind spinning- I almost feel dizzy. And he's so close I can feel him touching me, and he closes the space between us, so that he's holding me. I think I'm going to start bouncing up and down, and then he leans in just a little, his smirk inching up his cheeks even more. And he's so close, so close I can almost-

"Miss Delacour!"

I'm yanked out of my delicious daydream, by Madame McGonagall's harsh voice. What is with these Hogwarts teachers and their love for barking your name at the top of their voices? I almost groan, but McGonagall's looking at me in annoyance, her stern hair looking even sterner, pulled back into her typical knot of gray. She looks like she's expecting something from me. _Quoi?_ I almost blurt out, with a disgusted snarl on my lips. I keep myself in check though.

"Yes, madame?" I ask, trying to sound angelic.

She gives me a pointed look, then says, "Perhaps you'd like texblainshushbellforda class?"

I stare at her.

What?

She stares at me in return.

What did she say?

"Pardon, madame?"

She looks as if I'm ripping her patience to shreds as she says, "Ex-plain the spell for thee class?" Her words are slow, and I understand them, but I have no idea what spell she's talking about.

So, instead of getting reprimanded about not paying attention again, I play the 'lost in translation' card.

"Je ne sais pas," I shake my head, "Exblaineshushbell?"

"Ex-plain. Thee. Spell."

I shrug, squinting at her, "I do not undairstand what you are saying, madame."

"The spell. The spell!" she shouts. "Explain it!"

"Exblaineet?"

"Explain it!"

"What eez exblaine? Exblaine what?"

A few people in the back of the room snigger.

I almost want to laugh too. McGonagall's frustration is so fun.

She sighs, "_Explain_. Tell me about the spell!"

"Dellmea? What eez dellmea?"

"TELL. ME. ABOUT. THE. SPE-"

A voice from the back of the classroom cuts her off, "Uh- Professor? Class is over."

McGonagall seems to remember herself, and she says, "Yes, so it is." She clears her throat, "Your papers on Pumple Blitterswitch are due on Monday," she says as everyone gathers their things and shuffles toward the door. Glaring at me, she says, "And Fleur- Might I suggest some English lessons with one of the Hogwarts students?"

I smile at her, "Bien sur. Merci madame," and I flounce out of the room.

I know it's wrong, but what else am I supposed to do when she catches me daydreaming? But, then again... English lessons might not be such a bad idea. And I can think of the perfect Hogwarts student to give me those lessons.

The only problem now is asking him.

* * *

"I am being sorry," Viktor says before dinner, when we're walking around the lake outside. "I haff not heard you properly- Vat?"

I roll my eyes, "You 'eard me."

"Did I? It sounded as if you vanted me to suggest to Cedric Diggory that you need English lessons," he says, playing that he's heard me incorrectly.

I stare at him.

Viktor guffaws, "Just ask him yourself! I am sure he vill be kind about it-"

"I would feel stupide," I confess, hugging myself- partly because it's freezing out, but also partly because I'm insecure about all things Cedric for some reason. "I can not go up to 'im and juste say 'I need Eengleesh lessons- give zem to me now!"

Viktor laughs, "Vy not?"

I glare at him.

"All right- I vill be helping you," he gives in, crouching to pick up a rock off the beach. "Vat do ve do though, ve need to be haffing some kind off plan," he says, skipping the rock across the surface of the lake.

I think for a moment. What's some kind of excuse I could use to get Viktor, Cedric, and I together? I'm not going to use something like 'We should figure out the egg together!' because that's kind of absurd. We're competing. And we'd have to invite Harry to be fair- and I don't need him to get English lessons. So- urgh- what do Cedric and I have in common that Viktor has in common also? There has to be something. Cedric's in my Potions class-

With bright eyes I ask Viktor, "What class air you takeeng pour pozhuns?"

"Advanced, vy?" he replies with a puckered brow.

"I zeenk I 'ave an idea," I tell him with a deviant smile.

* * *

Somehow, we manage to convince Cedric that it would be good idea for us all to study for Advanced Potions together. So, on Sunday morning, we all meet in the library, with our books spread out on a table around us. For a good half hour we talk about potions, ingredients, methods, and the like. We compare notes and quiz each other effectively, going over difficult material and helping to explain certain things to the others. It's a good study session, but it dwindles. Pretty soon, we've drifted into talking about the first task, the egg, the second task, the Yule Ball, family, Hogwarts, everything. We're just talking and joking and having fun as champions- as friends. And it feels good to be talking to people my own age- to be having fun and being a part of something. Hogwarts has felt so lonely and dismal, especially since Angele has turned Laure against me, but this is wonderful- this feels natural and fun.

"At least you two haven't had to deal with Snape since you were eleven," Cedric says, groaning a little. "He doesn't get better over time, I'll tell you."

Viktor and I laugh.

I tease him, "You poor zing."

"But Snape is only bad to the people he doesn't like," Viktor points out, trying to sound fair.

"Yeah- the only problem is that he hates everyone that's not a Slytherin," is the retort.

And it's so true, that we end up laughing over it.

When the laughter is close to subsiding though, Viktor gives me a meaningful look. Oh right. I had almost forgotten what this study session was initially for. To make it seem like my English is even more atrocious than it actually is, and to get Cedric to offer lessons for me. All of a sudden, I'm nervous. How do I go about this without seeming like a total liar? I'm not a good actress, by any means, and it's not like I go around lying about something as simple as speaking- although, there's nothing simple about speaking English. But I can do this. How else am I going to get Cedric to ask me to the Yule Ball? or even become interested in me, if I don't put myself out there for him. I take a deep breath. Come on, Fleur, just dive in and do it. You did it with McGonagall, you can most certainly do it with Cedric- but I meet his amber eyes, and my whole body turns to jelly. Can I trick him? Do I even want to? I envision us sitting in this same library, huddled close, as he teaches me English, with us laughing intimately over it all... Yes, I want to trick him.

"Eez eet possible zat Snape 'as- um- erm," I scrunch up my face, hoping I can act well enough. "Eez 'e- Does 'e..."

Cedric and Viktor stare at me expectantly, and I can tell that Viktor wants to laugh.

"Je ne sais pas ze mot comment eenglish," I slip into my Franglais easily, trying to look uncomfortable and confused. "Je deteste l'anglais!"

Cedric laughs a little, "What are you trying to say?"

"Quoi?" I pretend to not understand him at all.

"What are you trying to say?" he says, slower now. "In English."

"Snape- Does 'e- I do not know ze word!" I slap my textbook angrily, as if I'm growing increasingly frustrated.

Viktor's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter, as he and Cedric look at me with amusement.

Sounding very convincing, Viktor says, "Fleur, it sounds as if you are to be needing help in English."

"I am fine!" I snap, as if I'm defensive.

"I think he's right, Fleur," Cedric says with his smirk. "You might need some help."

I scoff, "I am pairfectly able to speak zis langue avec- avec- wiz- wizout lessons," I says with 'difficulty.'

Viktor laughs out loud, and Cedric kindly speaks over his own chuckling, "Maybe I could just help you with some of your schoolwork- in terms of translation, and then you'll pick up the language."

Victory.

I smile genuinely, sayings, "Merci Cedreek, maybe zat would be a good idea."

Viktor and I exchange a look. He gives me a look that says, 'You are a sorry little person.' but I send him a look that says, 'Mission accomplished.'

**Author's Note:** I'm not too sure about the English lessons, since Bill gives her English lessons when they meet- but, perhaps the bittersweetness will be wonderful? I dunno, I guess we'll see. Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Allow the fluffiness to ensue!


	20. The Fruits of Sleep

**Author's Note:** Thank you-thank you for reviewing! I love them to pieces! Here is chapter twenty! Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter Twenty  
The Fruits of Sleep**

_I'm standing in a ruined abbey- the one from my dream in September- and everything is charred and smoking around me. My heart flutters in my chest as I recall the broken stained-glass window, and the way it cut into Gabrielle's face. But I survey my surroundings, and my little sister is nowhere in sight. Feeling a little more at ease, I make my way through the abbey, cringing slightly as the ash underneath my bare feet coats my skin in smudged black. The only remains of the sacred place, are crumbling stone walls and frail, burnt rafters overhead. For a moment I feel as if I'm walking through the smoking skeleton of an animal, but then I see someone walking towards me. They slowly enter through the broken doorway on the opposite side of the abbey, staring at me plainly. A thick breath of acrid smoke hangs between us though, and I can't see who it is. It seems to be a young man, but that's all I can make out._

_Without considering it, I begin to walk toward him as well. I could very well be walking to my death, but I don't stall myself._

_He speaks, and there's something familiar about his voice._

_He's not French though._

_"Fleur."_

_I quicken my steps, and the curtain of smoke lightens as I draw nearer._

_When I'm within touching distance of him, I say, "Cedreek," with a sigh, as if I had been fearing who the figure could have been._

_"Your sister- You have lost her," he says, and there's no language barrier between us- he's speaking French, though I still believe it's English._

_I shake my head furiously, "But I didn't mean to! It was an accident!" I shout._

_Cedric shakes his head, looking at me with tense, heavy, amber eyes. I swallow._

_"It's only because you're a Veela," he says._

_"What?" I hiss. "What does that- That has nothing to do-" my throat chokes up and I can't find the words to speak._

_He looks at me haltingly, asking, "But you dropped her, didn't you? You were the reason she bled?"_

_"Cedreek, please!" I cry in anguish, feeling my throat tightening and my eyes burning._

_"And then you did it a second time?" he asks quietly._

_I shout, "You don't understand any of it!"_

_And all of a sudden, the world shifts around me. I'm not longer in the abbey, I'm now standing in the entrance hall of Printemps Mignon. A strange, unbearable silence has descended on the whole house, and all of a sudden, I feel very nervous and afraid. Walking forward tentatively, I call out for my parents. There is no response. I call for Gabrielle. My words are met by an even heavier silence. Upon further inspection, I find that the entire house is empty. The servants are not here, and neither is my family. The house is never completely empty. We always have at least one person here- be it a maid or a cook- and at least a handful of Papa's dogs running about, jumping up on you and licking at your hands. But there are no dogs around, no maids, no cooks, no assistants- no one._

_I ascend the stairs and am about to make my way to my room, feeling too alone and anxious for my own good, when something stops me, halting me in my tracks._

_At the top of the stairs is a puddle-shaped stain of deep blue, like the remains of a blue blood stain._

_Mama's screams erupt around me, and I turn frantically, searching for her, searching for someone, but no one is there. The noise intensifies, making me fall to my knees in fear. I clamp my hands over my ears, trying to stave off the noise, but its as if the screams are coming from my own head. I clench my eyes shut and fold in on myself, trying to not think about the stain or the screaming, or worse, the solitude of our home._

I awake from my dream, shaking. In the darkness of the dormitory, I immediately turn and peer at Gabrielle. She's sleeping soundly in her bed, perfectly fine. Trembling violently, I wrap my blankets around me, staring at the ceiling miserably. What did _this_ dream mean? Why did Cedric say my dropping Gabrielle was because I was a Veela? Why was no one at Printemps Mignon? Why was the stain at the top of the stairs blue? And why was it there at all?

It's extremely early on Monday morning, and the slick dread of my dreams makes me sick at the idea of having classes in just a few hours. I try, fruitlessly, to close my eyes and resume sleeping, but I can't do it. Instead, I alternate in laying on my back to stare at the ceiling, laying on my side to watch Gabrielle sleep- alive- laying on my other side to watch the sky lighten by degrees, and then laying on my stomach to bury my face in my pillow and discard any thoughts of my dream. I do this for hours, until the sun finally comes up and it's a reasonable enough time to get out of bed.

I'm ready before everyone else, sitting on my bed, fully dressed, fully ready with my books, before half of the girls have even woken up.

* * *

On Tuesday at le petit dejeuner, an owl swoops down and drops a letter in front of me. I recognize the soft, creamy paper of Mama's stationary, take a breath, and then open the letter with violently trembling hands.

The letter is written in my mother's elegant script, and it reads:

_Ma chere,_

_Forgive me for being such a wench in my previous letter. Ma chere, I was just so frightened for your safety- your Papa and I both were. Things haven't changed, Fleur. We're still very scared for you and wish you were safely out of harm's way, but even still, we are_ proud _of you. This Tournament is a very serious thing, and it's amazing that you were chosen! And you put a dragon to sleep? We're in awe, truly. I'm sorry it seemed as if I had zero faith in you, ma belle, you can't blame me for worrying- I am your mother after all. And being half Veela, I allowed my fear and anger get the best of me. There's no way out of this Tournament, so we can only urge you to move forward to victory. Je suis desolee, Fleur, for not thinking in my previous letter. We have faith in you, and we are so proud of all you are accomplishing and will accomplish._

_Bon Chance!_

_Mama et Papa_

I fold the letter back up and quickly rub at my eyes, not wanting anyone to see the tears pooling there. Here, I had been worrying that Mama and Papa were going to disown me- had been so angry and ashamed that I had lied to them about the Tournament, that they wouldn't speak to me ever again. And now this letter. This letter from my Mama that says she's sorry. My proud and self-assured mother is apologizing for not thinking, and for scolding me in a way that she knows was harsh. I don't think Mama has ever apologized to anyone, for anything, and this turn of events makes me so happy, so happy that I'm tearing up.

"Are you okay?"

I look up and find I'm face to face with a worried-looking Cho Chang.

Rubbing at my eyes again, I give her a smile, saying, "Oh yes, I am fine- Zank you."

She nods and is about to say something else, but Angele squawks, "Sho! We are going to classe. Air you ready?"

With one last apologetic smile, she joins them and they disappear out of the hall.

Noticing, for the first time, that the Great Hall is emptying, I slip the letter into my bag and stand up, hurrying into the hallway and to my first class of the day.

* * *

By Wednesday Gabrielle still hasn't spoken to me. I'm losing my patience with her little silent treatment, but I'm also aching for her to know that I don't want things to be this way. If she would only speak to me for a moment, I could explain to her that I'd love to go home, but I have an obligation here, opening the ball at Hogwarts. But she is icy to me, keeping her face and her back turned from me at any chance she gets. She's so manipulative angry-Veela that it's worrying. Any moment now she's going to snap and hurl a surprise fireball at me.

After dinner, as I'm gathering my books on my bed, getting ready to meet Cedric in the library for the first time, I try to talk to her.

Turning to face her, where she's lying down, reading, I say, "Gabri, this is getting ridiculous."

As was expected, she continues ignoring me.

"I'm not choosing to stay here for Christmas," I tell her. "I have no choice. As a champion, I have to be here to open the Yule Ball."

She doesn't even look at me.

Sighing with impatience, I continue, "You're being unreasonable about this."

For one brief moment, she looks at me, fixing me with a cold, Veela-bourne glare, and then she looks away.

"You can go home!" I almost yell. "I'll stay here for Christmas and you can go home and see Mama and Papa! No ones keeping you here for a ball you can't even go to!"

But she doesn't respond.

Well, fine, if she wants to be like this, I'll ignore her too. Turning swiftly, I grab my bag, hook it over my shoulder, and swiftly hurry out of the room. As I nearly stomp my whole way to the library, going down shifting staircases and passed mocking portraits, I fume about my sister. There's no reason for her to be angry now. I've told her the truth- that I didn't insist on staying, and that she doesn't have to, just because I am. But she's still mad, she's still being a little beast about this.

When I reach the library, I find Cedric leaning against the wall outside, waiting for me, looking devastatingly handsome. He hears my footsteps and stands up straight, smiling.

Even though it's his crooked grin, I can only smile back grimly. Gabrielle has set me in a foul mood.

Once we've set our things up in a nook behind a bookshelf, well-hidden from everyone, Cedric asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nuzzing."

"Fleur," is all he says in response.

I look at him, and before I know it, I'm confessing, "My seester is angry wiz me parce que je- I'm staying for Chreestmas, and she wants to go 'ome."

He shrugs, "Why doesn't she just go home?"

"I do not know- She eez being so deeffeecult!" I huff.

Giving me a sympathetic smile, he says, "Have you tried talking to her?"

"I deed- only but juste now!" I shake my head and clench my fist under my chin. "Ze leetle beast eez eempossible."

He laughs a little at my flustered commentary.

"Let's not talk about ma seester," I say, pushing my books forward. "'elp me wiz my sharms translations."

* * *

"Ubzide-dhown."

I hear the words in all their glory, but that doesn't mean I understand them.

Again, I shake my head.

Sighing, Cedric thinks for a moment, then he says, "The wrong way up?"

What?

He picks up a book, holding it out in front of me. He flips it vertically, so that the title is upside-down.

"Ubzide-dhown. Get it?"

What is he showing me? The book being flipped? The title being unreadable? What are you trying to convey here, garcon?

Miserably, I say, "Non."

And I really don't get it. Initially this meeting to help with my homework was a rouse, manipulated by Viktor and I, but now that I'm here, and failing miserably at English translation, I realize that I seriously need this help.

Cedric rights the book, and then flips it again, so the book is upside-down, staring at me expectantly.

What's the word for flip?

"Fleep? You fleeped eet?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"You can not read eet?"

No.

"Well, 'ow ze 'ell should I know what you are trying to say!" I say, losing my patience. "I am French pour l'amour de mon Dieu!"

He gives me a patient, reprimand of a look and I silence myself, fuming in my seat, hardly able to tolerate this much longer.

He holds the book out to me, still upside-down.

"Zat book eez only a l'envers," I say to him, as if this is ridiculous. "I do not know what else you want me to say."

"What is it?"

I stare at him, "A l'envers?"

"Explain it to me," he prompts.

Sighing, I say, "You know- Uh- Ze up eez down."

"Ubzide-dhown!" he says brightly.

Looking at him as if he's gone insane, I stoically ask, "Are you a fool?"

He drops his head down onto his open textbook with a thunk.

Apparently the boy is a fool.

Lifting his eyes to me again, he slowly says, "Up. Side. Down."

Up side down? Upside-down? Upside-down. Upside-down!

"Je comprends!" I almost shout. "Upside-down!"

"Yes!" Cedric beams, looking relieved and grateful. "You've got it!"

I beam back at him, as he directs my attention back to the textbook.

He points to the page and says, "They suspended Rentro Pollend upside-down, in the air, for weeks- Until he revealed where he had placed the shield."

My brain feels so stretched and tired that I give him a look of pleading. I can't comprehend anymore about Rentro Pollend, except the fact that he was upside-down at some point or another. Cedric seems to understand this, and he closes the book mercifully. He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, and I slump forward, resting my head against my folded arms. My brain and my body are so tired. We've been attempting this translation nonsense for hours. The library is now empty- I'm not even sure the librarian is in here- and the sky is dark outside. I can't say how late it is, I only hope I don't get caught outside past curfew if it is that late.

"Have you tried to figure out your clue anymore?"

I open my eyes and raise my head slightly. Cedric is still leaning back with his eyes closed, but he's just relaxing as he waits for a response.

The clue? The egg!

"Non," I reply, sitting up a little. "I 'ave not. And you?"

"Have contemplated smashing it into little pieces for the frustration it's caused me," he says stoically.

I laugh at that mental image and rub my temples, "I'll 'elp eef you'd like."

"I'd appreciate it," he replies, still not moving or opening his eyes.

For a long moment I have the opportunity to stare at him, unfettered. The broad slope of his chest is arched as he leans his shoulders against the uncomfortable back of his bench. Through the fabric of his shirt and vest, I can see the muscles and tones of his body, looking entirely appealing and inviting. For a moment I actually contemplate reaching out and running my hand across his chest and stomach, but then I realize how ludicrous that is, and I ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. His golden-brown hair flops against his forehead, and away from his head as well, looking soft and natural. Those amber eyes are covered by the soft dips of his eyelids, so I marvel at his eyelashes instead, tickling the tops of his cheeks like tiny, tiny feathers. I just want to press my lips against his cheek, or touch him in some small way- but I know I can't.

I clear my throat.

Cedric does not stir.

Fearing he's fallen asleep, I whisper, "Cedreek?"

No response.

His breathing is so steady and calm, that I'm sure he's asleep. For a moment I look away, trying to gauge what I should do in this situation. Do I wake him? Do I just leave him here and let him sleep- No! And then a thought strikes me. I called his name and he didn't wake up- surely he would remain asleep if I just gave him the lightest kiss on the cheek. And, I know- it's a little bit strange to be kissing a boy without his knowledge- but, the pull I have towards him is so strong that I'm afraid to deny it. Besides, he knows- in a small kind of way that I'm- It's not all that strange, d'accord?!

With light and stealthy movements, I edge over to his bench, sitting down beside him. He doesn't stir, and so I slide over, closer to him, until our thighs are touching. The warmth our body heat shares is enough to suffice this attraction of mine, but then I see the smooth planes of his cheeks and I- just one kiss, it won't hurt anyone. I'm terribly slow and very careful as I lean in closer to him. Just from breathing I can take in his smell of soap and musk, and by then I'm only a breath away from his face. Closing the gap between us, I press my lips against his cheek- like feathers brushing against stone- and pull away just as slowly.

When I'm looking at him again, I see his eyes are open now.

I gasp, and for the first time- ever?- I think I might blush.

"Cedreek, j'ai pense- j'etais-" I stumble over myself in French as he simply stares at me, not moving his head from where it's still leaning. "Je suis desolee- I apologize."

After a long beat of silence, he asks, "Why?"

And then that crooked grin mounts his lips.

"I liked it," he says. "Would you mind doing it again?" he asks.

Smiling, feeling my confidence blossoming, restored, flourishing, I lean in again and press my lips to his cheek, only I apply a little bit more pressure this time.

When I lean away from him he sits up, "One more time?"

I'm almost grinning now, but I keep my smile coy and sly as I lean in again, going for his cheek once more. But, right before I hit my mark, he turns and offers me his lips, kissing me right back. I'm surprised, but my eyes slide shut peacefully. He puts his hand on my neck, cupping my jawline with his fingers, and I venture to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling extremely pleased and confident, I allow his tongue between my lips and his free hand onto my waist, where he pulls me closer to him. Somehow I find myself leaning backward, and Cedric adjusting himself to lean over me. Perhaps we're moving too fast, but I don't care. This feels just right and I think-

"Excuse me!" someone says sternly, impatiently.

Cedric and I break apart, startled, turning to see the librarian, Madame Pince, staring at us with fire in her eyes.

"Do you mind?" she says loudly, and I know we're not meant to answer this question.

With grins on our faces, and Madame Pince's eyes on us the whole time, we pack up our things, trying to remain silent and respectable.

We laugh as we're kicked out of the library.

**Author's Note:** Hope that wasn't too rushed in the fluff-department. Sorry for the wait for the chapter, also!


	21. Pieces of Revealed Humanity

**Author's Note:** I know it's been forever since I updated, but I got wrapped up in a couple of stories (new, current, old, nonexistent) and school has been crazy. Not only that, but my friends are actually making me leave the house every once in a while (what the hell? do they want me to have a _life_ or something?!) so I haven't had as much time to write. But, Fleur beckoned me back, and once I started writing I realized how much I missed her and all her trials- and I missed Cedric too. So I am back! Hope you like the chapter! Thanks for reading and being patient!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One  
Pieces of Revealed Humanity**

I'm somewhat hurt on Thursday when Viktor and I talk about the Cedric situation. I grab a pile of toast and pull Viktor out of the Hall so we can talk, before almost anyone else has even come down for breakfast. We walk the halls before class- because it's far too cold to endure the weather outside- and I tell him that the events of Cedric and my study session went well. If this were Laure, I might have considered going into detail about how adorable I think the whole thing really was- but, this is Viktor, and he's a boy, so I spare him the mushy particulars. He smiles and congratulates me on a mission accomplished. This is when I let slip a comment about wondering what everyone will think.

"But Fleur," Viktor stops me. "You can not be telling anyone about you and Cedric."

This stalls me, "And why not?"

"Because- They vill not allow it off the champions," he shakes his head.

I narrow my eyes, wanting to defend my right to tell everyone Cedric and I are together (are we together?), "And where does eet say zees?"

He gives me a look, "Vat do you think your Madame vill be saying if you are to tell her?"

I think of myself sitting in Madame's office in Tour de Terreur, telling her I'm seeing one of the Hogwarts champions. In my mind's eye, I see her shaking her head and looking embarrassed of me. _Fleur, you can not be involved with him that way_, she says. _Why not?_ I counter. _Because it's just not done,_ she replies. _You should know better._ I am properly scolded and I say, _I am sorry Madame_. And I'm embarrassed- I see myself leaving the office in shame and regret, worrying that she'll be watching my actions closely- making sure that I am not going back on my word and really seeing Cedric in secret. And that is what I'd do. I don't care what they say about champions having some kind of relationship- it's not going to affect the Tournament.

Either way though, the truth is there.

"You air courrect," I tell Viktor, groaning. "Mais pourquoi- Why do zings 'ave to be zees way?!"

He shakes his head.

And now that it's brought to my attention, it seems instinctual and right. How could I have thought it would be okay for everyone to know we were involved? But then again, _are_ we involved? It was one kiss, and I'm not sure if Cedric's going to think anything of it. Sure, he walked me to the tower last night and kissed me once again, before disappearing down the dark corridor, but- what does that mean in terms of 'us?'

* * *

I stand outside of the classroom before Potions on Thursday afternoon, squeezing the handle of my bookbag nervously, looking up the hallway, past the other students, waiting for Cedric. My legs feel as if they're made from lead, and my stomach swirls, filled with acids and emptiness. The moment of truth is fast approaching. I haven't seen Cedric all morning, and this class- depending on how he acts around me- will define what his outlook on 'us' is. And this fact makes me want to throw up.

"Hey, Ced!"

Turning, I see him approach a small cluster of boys and two girls. He smiles at them and they start talking to him, going into an animated discussion on something I can't understand. Not once does he look my way, or even attempt to seek out my eyes. It makes me feel as if I've been slapped in the face, and I turn away from him, my body vibrating in anger and hurt.

Snape slams open the door, and everyone files inside.

Dejectedly, I sit beside the pimply boy who occupies the desk next to mine. Even more so than usual, I am in no mood for translating my assignments and forcing my brain to strain through English lessons given by impossible teachers. From where I sit, I stare at Cedric pathetically, shaking my head subtly, disgusted. Even when Snape begins writing out notes on the board, listing ingredients and imperative reminders, I can't focus or do anything except look at Cedric and wait for him to turn and just _glance_ at me. But it's like I don't exist. And the disappointment and anger mixing inside of me makes my chest ache and my lip tremble before I can control it. No boy has ever been able to affect me like this, and I swallow hard.

_M'aidez, Grandmere...._

Tapping into the power of my inner Veela, I straighten my shoulders and pick up my chin. I'm afraid I hit the boy beside me with a blast of charm, because he immediately stares at me with renewed intensity.

"Perhaps you and I should work together after class- to perfect our potion skills," he says, his eyes roaming my body generously.

I curl my lip at him and toss my hair, absorbing this power and control while I can maintain it, saying, "Non, I do not zink zo."

The disappointment and crushed determination on his face makes the Veela in me swell with pride.

I don't need Cedric.

But the makeshift power and confidence wither away to nothing, and my humanity shines through the second Potions ends and I'm on my way to lunch. Cedric walks with a group of girls and a couple of his guy friends. All around him, younger students are flocking like birds and he's smiling and telling a story that is making everyone laugh and gasp at all the appropriate moments. Still, I receive no attention from him- and I'm so unaccustomed to this, that it hurts- as I walk along, a good distance behind his group. And I may be part Veela, but the majority of me is human, and that part of me is the one that is allowing all of this rejection to bombard me with disappointment.

I spend all of lunch in the library, translating my notes and ignoring the anger and the annoying bite of foreign rejection.

By my last class of the day- study hall- I've convinced myself that Cedric isn't good enough for me, and that I can do so much better. Cedric has study hall now too, and he sits a few tables away from me, working through textbooks and parchments. I manage to not even look at him. The first half hour is passed trying to decode the English language in my History of Magic book. At the halfway mark of the period though, Cedric stands up and- I can't help but notice what he does after all- goes up to Professor Burbage (who is monitoring the study hall) and speaks to her for a moment. He walks away from her and she's smiling at his charm as he makes his way toward the door.

Before he leaves the room he almost invisibly slips a piece of paper onto my open textbook and walks away.

With newly shaking hands and a thumping heart, I unfold the parchment and read:

_Fleur-_

_I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you all day._

_I thought it would be better if we were completely discreet._

_Wait about fifteen minutes after I leave, and then tell Burbage you need to meet with some of your profs for extra help because of your difficulty with English._

_Meet me by the statue of Franz Lichsten the Intolerable, on the fifth floor, by the picture windows, when you get out._

_-Cedric_

I look around, see that no one is staring at me, and slip the parchment into the pocket of my bag, going back to my reading as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Inside, my inner Veela is dancing with victory and pride.

* * *

The hall on the fifth floor with the picture windows is empty.

I stand by the statue of Franz Lichsten the Intolerable and wait.

For a fraction of a second, I hear the creak of a hinge, and then there's a hand circling my wrist, and I'm being pulled backwards, stumbling over my feet slightly before I'm righted by another hand. There's a creak again, and I'm encased in darkness. I can sense that I'm in an enclosed space, and that someone is standing in front of me, there body grazing mine. Cedric.... I hope.

"_Lumos_."

Now our faces alone are illuminated by the light of his wand, and I can see that he's smiling that little smirk of his, his face only inches from mine.

For some reason, I whisper in the close space, "I 'ope zees eez not goeeng to 'appen offten."

His smirk grows, "Do you mind it?"

"I suppose not," I say coyly.

Ducking down, he kisses me quickly, then says, "Good," kissing me again.

My toes curl in my shoes as Cedric's hand cups my face gently, his fingers tickling the skin underneath my hair. I don't want to stumble backward or forward, so I brace myself against his chest with my free hand, which makes him pull me closer to him. For a moment, my body all but hums with pleasure and contentment, but then I'm reminded of the fact that we're in a closet. We have to be a secret, and it puts a damper on my mood.

I push him away slightly, and take a deep breath.

"What is it?" he asks, his arms still around me.

I shake my head a little, looking back into his eyes and saying, "We 'ave to be a secret, n'est-ce pas?"

He just looks at me for a moment.

"Do we not?"

Sighing a little, he says, "I guess we do."

I frown, "Ze Tournament- Eet forbids us?"

He nods, "The judges wouldn't allow it. We have to be secret."

I look up into his eyes, and he puts his other hand on my upper arm, still holding his lighted wand.

"Fleur, if you don't want us to sneak around we don't-"

"Non," I stop him. "I do not care."

He smiles a little, "You don't?"

"Non."

"Then I don't care either," he says, and dives in again, placing his lips firmly on mine.

And this time, I don't pull away at all.

* * *

On Thursday night after dinner, I enter the common room of the Tour de Terreur before the other girls, to the sound of someone crying. Moving forward, I see it's Gabrielle, her face buried in the arm of the couch, her shoulders shaking with unbridled sobs. Without even thinking about our not speaking, I rush forward and kneel before the couch, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumps and looks at me, her face red and sopping with tears. When she sees it's me, she collapses even farther into the couch and cries even harder.

"Gabrielle, ma petite," I say, smoothing the hair away from her face. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

She shakes her head into the couch.

"Bebe," I say, stroking her head like I used to when she was a toddler.

Into the cushion, she harshly says, "The Hogwarts girls are beasts!"

"Pourquoi? What happened?"

This illicits a new round of furious sobs, so I wait patiently beside her, ready to take down any little Hogwarts tart that hurt my baby sister.

"The Hogwarts girls in my year have turned all of my friends against me!" she shrieks.

"What?" I ask. "How?"

She shakes her head, sitting up and wiping furiously at her face, "Because _I_ like Andrei from Durmstrang, and he likes _me_! But Megan likes him too, so she convinced all of my Beauxbatons friends that I'm not even human, and that I'm just some Veela who can't bear to let her friends have boyfriends of their own- I have to steal them!"

Standing up with a blinding fury, I say, "Where is this Megan? I'll set her straight."

Before I can move towards the door, Gabrielle grabs my hand and stops me, "No, Fleur! They'll all hate me even more if they think I sent my big sister to punish them for me!"

Reluctantly- and only because she looks so terrified at the prospect of me yelling at this girl- I lower myself down and sit beside her.

"What do you want me to do then?" I ask.

She shrugs wiping at her nose, "I don't know."

She looks so miserable and hurt that I just look at her, feeling my chest ache for my little sister. I know what she's going through. My whole school career I've had to deal with foolish little girls who allowed their jealousy or their unreasonable hatred of me permit them to use words like 'half-breed.' I know what it's like to have someone turn other people against you by convincing them that you're not fully human, and because of this, that you don't have real feelings except lust or selfishness. On my own, without anyone's actions being a catalyst, I've questioned my humanity and if I should be going to school and living with human beings. I'm part Veela, does that infect the rest of my lineage? So, I know what she's dealing with, and I don't care that it's been a part of my life, as much I wish she didn't have to deal with it.

I put my arms around her and pull her closer to me.

"Don't ever let anything those girls say hurt you," I say softly. "They just do things like this because they're mad."

"What if they're right?" she sobs, after a moment. "What if I'm not human?"

I shake my head, "You are human- just because you are part Veela doesn't mean you're not human!"

Though I'm not entirely convinced of what I'm saying, my words are sincere and fierce for her.

"Being part Veela is not something you should ever be ashamed of-"

"But Veela turn into birds and they steal men and they throw fire-"

I cut her off, "Yes, but every- every_thing_ has poor qualities, Gabri. Have you forgotten all the good too?"

She is silent as she clings to me, having completely forgotten her Christmas-arrangement grudge against me.

"They dance," I remind her. "They make the whole forest vibrate with the beauty of their dancing," I whisper. "They're beautiful and charming, and they help people to forget their problems more than they steal boyfriends." I squeeze her arm a little. "Don't you remember the glitter-trails and the dancing with the music of the wood nymphs when we visited Grandmere?"

Gabrielle is silent again.

I lean my cheek against the top of her head as I say, "I know you remember."

She sighs.

"Those girls aren't going to bring up all the good qualities of a Veela, because they're just trying to make you look bad," I reassure her. "Just forget about them. Your friends will realize their mistake, and they'll be apologizing by tomorrow."

"Laure still hasn't apologized to you," she points out weakly.

This makes me freeze.

I clear my throat, saying, "Laure is mad at me for something that never happened."

Gabrielle sighs again, "Do you really think they'll apologize to me?"

I kiss the top of her head, "I know they will."

She silently settles into our embrace, and we sit like that until the rest of the girls enter the common room, filtering upstairs or sitting down in pairs and groups. No one bothers us, and we don't talk to anyone else. Instead, we sit together, enjoying the closeness and silence that we can share, in a way that only sisters can.

I think it's safe to say that our rift has been resolved.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So that was chapter twenty-one. Sorry that- in general- this story is so slow-going. I mean, it's the twenty-first chapter, it's been over a year, and we're only just past the first task. I'm trying really hard to speed things up without rushing everything, so I appreciate anyone who is tolerating this aspect of the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hopefully chapter twenty-two will be up soon!


	22. Fleur Brokenhearted

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the awesome reviews for the last chapter! I'm glad it got a good reception! And thank you everyone, for being so patient between updates. Things have been kind of crazy lately and I'm trying to get updates in anywhere I can. I was excited to write this chapter though, so I hope everyone enjoys it. You'll notice that I stole the design of Fleur's dress from the movie one- which I absolutely loved. Enjoy chapter twenty-two!

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
Fleur Brokenhearted**

December descends on us like a fog. It's slow, and then it's suddenly all around us. The cold becomes harsher, the teachers lazy, the food heavier, and with all of it, the snow starts. I dread all of it. I'm so accustomed to the south of France- to warm, balmy weather, and zero snow. This culture shock makes me hate Hogwarts. It makes me glare at the spacious, stony corridors and the hollow, looming ceilings. It makes me spend my free time huddled under the covers in the Tour de Terreur, shivering and staring hopelessly at my English homework. And because of all of this, I very seriously contemplate running away to somewhere warm and remote.

But there are two things keeping me here.

One thing: Since the turn of the month, Hogwarts is dripping in holiday decorations. Everlasting-icicles hang from the banister of the marble staircase outside of the Great Hall; Mistletoe floats throughout the halls, over everyone's heads; Wreaths hang from the doors and walls of the Hall as well, housing fairies that shriek at you as you pass, demanding attention and admiration in their little high-pitched buzzings; The food served to us is garnished in sprigs of pine and holly (which, some students have found out the hard way, are not meant to be eaten); The suits of armor in the corridors sing various holiday tunes (in English, obviously) throughout the day; And the twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall are near to falling over- they're so loaded down with baubles and string.

Because of the opulence and merriment of the school's decorations, it isn't so dreary to walk down the halls during the day. It may be cold here, but it's fun to walk by singing armor, or to watch other students get awkwardly stuck under a bough of mistletoe.

And with the arrival of the decorations, has swept a fever that can not be shaken. The excitement over the Yule Ball is contagious, and it's nearly lethal. Once you've got it, it's hard to think of anything else. After the first week of Yule Ball insanity, I, too, can't think of anything else. Dresses, dress robes, dancing, different foods, music, fun. I've already sent Mama a letter asking her to find me the perfect dress. Even Gabrielle, who is glad to be going home for Christmas, is joining in my excitement for the ball. Being able to look forward to something fun is one thing that really keeps my spirits up.

The other thing, is Cedric.

Though our meetings are few, and secret, they also give me something to look forward to. Sometimes we sneak out of our study hall and meet by Franz Lichsten the Intolerable, talking in hushed volumes and embracing with racing hearts. Other times, we both miss dinner and walk along the lake, holding hands when we're farthest from the castle. But most often, we meet by Franz Lichsten, or some other well-known statue or portrait, and get lost among the passageways of the castle. If we hear someone else coming, we hide among the tapestries or in corners and closets, suppressing our laughter, pressed close together, hearts racing and smiles wide. And just because I have Cedric to think about, and our rendezvous to look forward to, it gets me through the tough moments of miscommunication and Tournament anxiety.

It's because of the Christmas spirit, but mostly because of Cedric, that I don't mind staying at Hogwarts for the remainder of the year.

* * *

It's a week into December and thick flurries of snow are falling from the sky. Though I'm inside the shelter of an indoor corridor- on my way from Defense Against the Dark Arts to the Great Hall for lunch- the wind still gets through the walls, and I'm shivering. My heels clip through the chatter and laughter around me, like a rhythm that helps propel me forward. I stare at the stone slats making up the floor ahead as I walk, absently wondering about the golden egg- in its new hiding place in the Tour dormitory.

Suddenly, a figure steps in front of me and I stop short.

Standing before me is a boy that can't be more than an inch taller than me, with dark, neatly combed hair, thick, black eyebrows, narrow blue eyes, and pale skin. I suppose he could be considered handsome, but I just don't see it. Wondering what he wants from me, I stare at him with expectant eyes and pursed lips. He smiles nervously in return.

"May I 'elp you?" I ask him impatiently.

He stares at me for a moment, playing host to a dopey smile.

I tilt my head to the side, blinking slowly, waiting, growing even more impatient.

Finally, he speaks: "I-I-I-I know you don't kn-know me- I mean, we have Astronomy together...." he trails off when he sees I'm not exactly interested. "Anyway, we've never properly spoken."

I stare at him.

"I'm Roger Davies," he holds out his hand.

Reluctantly, I give him my hand, shaking his, though, barely touching him.

We stare at each other.

Obviously he's going to need to be guided through this. I say, "Was zere somezing zat you want?"

"Oh yes," he laughs nervously, pulling on the tie at his neck. "I'm sure you must know about the Yule Ball...."

Oh mon Dieu! He's going to ask me to the ball?

Clearing his throat, as if he's anxious, he asks, "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?"

I stare at him and he visibly starts shaking as he waits for my answer. No. I couldn't go to the Ball with someone who's afraid to be in my presence. And.... _Cedric_.

"Je regrette, Rogere," I say, people passing us on all sides, not paying us any attention. "Mais- I do not zink so."

He frowns, saying, "Oh."

I don't say anything, only nod once.

"Well, if you change your mind," he smiles hopefully. "I don't have any other date in mind so- Save a dance for me at least?"

I nod, saying, "I can do zat."

"Thanks," he says, as if I've just granted him a huge favor, and he turns, walking away.

I almost feel bad that I've turned him down.

* * *

Roger Davies was the first to ask me to the Yule Ball, but once he's asked me, it seems to break the ice, and all of the other contenders seem to take it as their cue to ask me as well. From breakfast to curfew, everyday, I'm fielding off invitations and desperation. I complain to Viktor and he tells me I'm a snob, so I turn on him.

"Well, zen, 'oo are you going wiz?"

He gets quiet.

I narrow my eyes, "'ave you asked someone yet?"

He shakes his head.

"Were you zinking of asking someone?"

He pauses, and then says, "Yes."

"'oo?!"

"She is going to Hogvarts."

I roll my eyes impatiently, "'oo is she?"

"She is being friends with Harry Potter."

I don't know which girl he's talking about, but I smile and tell him to get a move on and ask her.

Later the same night, when Cedric and I are walking through the outskirts of the forest after dinner, I complain to him about all my invites, and then tell him how Viktor called me a snob, and he laughs.

"Eet eez is not funny!" I say indignantly.

And he pulls me closer under his cloak and the extra throw blanket we've brought with us, continuing through the trees and underbrush, a smile still on his lips.

Teasingly, he says, "You are a snob."

I turn to him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, annoyed at everyone.

He laughs, "You are, but who cares?" he gives my waist a squeeze. Whispering in my ear he says, "I don't mind."

I continue to narrow my eyes at him as we walk, but I'm biting away a smile now.

"All I am speaking eez- Zere are ozzer girls 'ere- Why don't zey ask zem!?" I ask, flustered.

Cedric stares at me, "You can't be completely unaware of the effect you have on people."

"I-I-" I don't know what to say.

He stops walking and turns to me, the cloak and blanket still wrapped around both of us. Quietly, he says, "You _know_ the effect you have on people- You're part Veela."

I swallow, turning to look at the trees around us- not at him. This conversation turns vastly serious, and I don't like it.

Turning my face so I look at him, again, he says, "You know."

"I do not-" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "I do not want zat to be all people see zough."

He frowns.

"Zese boys- Zat is all zey care about- Zat I am part Veela- Zat I look ze way I do," I say softly, my voice shaking as I try to prevent myself from slipping into French.

"Fleur," he starts.

I stop him, stopping _this_ from getting any deeper than it is. "I do not care," I say. "Eet eez juste- Zere are a lot of boys asking me!"

Cedric raises an eyebrow, "How many?"

I can't help but smile at the jealousy in his tone, and I reply with a dramatic sigh, saying, "Zey are getting in line! All off zem!"

He smirks, asking, "Do you want me to fend all of them off? I've taken on dragons, I think I can handle a few teenage boys."

"More zan a few," I tell him, egging him on.

He narrows his eyes at me, "Perhaps I'll just have to kidnap you and keep you out of their reach."

He makes a grab for me and I run away, shrieking and laughing. It doesn't take long for him to catch me as we run through the trees, laughing and shrieking, and when he does, he wraps his arms around me and we're both breathing heavily, steam issuing from our smiling mouths. I relish the warmth of his body against mine, and I don't mind the chill around us so much as he holds me. This is when I love December.

"I've got you," he says triumphantly.

I smile and lean close to his face, saying, "I let you win."

He shakes his head as if I'm just being silly, and dives in to kiss me under the cover of the forest.

* * *

I'm sitting at a table in the common room of the Tour de Terreur during breakfast on Saturday- a week and six days until the Yule Ball. The potions homework I'm working on is next to impossible to finish, even with the translations done- and I'm staring at the parchment in front of me with annoyance curdling my stomach. I've decided to skip breakfast to get a head start on my homework for the weekend, but I'm not getting anything done. Potions was never this hard for me at Beauxbatons.

Snape is probably just giving the foreign students nonsense work that is guaranteed to confuse us, just because he has some kind of vendetta that I can't quite crack.

A smirk adorns my lips when I remember Cedric's words when I asked him to help find my classes with me- as was the instruction for Madame's task. I remember him calling Snape a _derriere_, and us laughing over the translation gap for a good dozen minutes.

"Fleur!"

I nearly snap the quill in my hand as I'm startled by my sister's voice. Turning swiftly in my chair, I see her running into the common room, holding a large package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?" I ask.

She holds the package out to me with an excited smile on her lips, saying, "It's for you!"

"Moi?" I knot my eyebrows.

Why would I be getting a package?

I take it in my hands and Gabrielle gushes, "Open it!"

Why would I be- My dress for the Yule Ball!

"It's my dress!" I almost shout, dropping the box onto the table- atop all of my textbooks and parchments- and pulling at the string greedily. Gabrielle is bouncing beside me as I pull away the twine and rip at the brown paper. She picks the wrapping up off the floor as I drop it and stands with an anxious grin on her lips, waiting. I lift the lid off of the box and we both gasp.

Carefully, I lift the dress out of the box and it falls to its full length before me. Both of us stare at it with admiring eyes.

"Fleur, it's beautiful!"

I nod silently to my sister, still staring at the dress.

It's made of softly pleated, ice gray material that flows out and easy. The waist is cinched in and pleated closer together up to the neckline, which is a soft V, lined by flat, dark gray, beaded flowers. One strap is extremely thin, and the other is made of the flower pattern. The whole thing is elegant and beautiful, and I know I'm going to love wearing it.

I sweep my eyes over the dress appreciatively, saying, "I'll have to thank Mama."

"I'm very jealous," Gabrielle says wistfully.

I laugh, tweaking her hair and putting the dress back into the box to hide it in the dormitory.

* * *

Cedric and I are somewhere within the hidden passageways of Hogwarts. This particular corridor is narrow and dark, with walls of unpolished stone on either side of us, dusty and riddled with cobwebs. We entered through a hidden doorway between two portraits, and we followed the hidden hallways and stairwells until we lost our way. This isn't that unusual for us though. We laugh and chat the whole way, wondering where we'll end up, holding hands and crouching in the dark as if we're fugitives. Tonight, we reach a dead-end and stop, facing each other and laughing. We don't make any move to return the way we came. We're content standing here for a little, completely hidden, safe, undetectable within the veins of the castle.

"You know, my muzzer sent over my dress pour ze Yule Ball," I say.

Cedric leans against the dusty wall, saying, "Yeah?"

I nod, "Je- I received eet aujourd'hui."

"Today," he corrects me lightly, smiling.

I narrow my eyes at him defiantly, smirking, "You know what I mean."

"That's cool," he amends, turning the conversation back to my dress.

"Eet eez tres booteeful," I say. "You weel love eet."

He continues to smile, saying, "I can't wait to see it."

We fall silent, each closer to the walls behind us than to each other, though we're still only a few centimeters apart.

A question lurks within my mind, and I look into the shadows of the corridor, lit only by the light of our wands. Dare I ask it?

Swallowing, and not looking at him yet, I ask, "What of ze Ball?"

Pausing for a moment, Cedric returns with: "What of it?"

"What eez going to happen- Are we going to go alone?" I finally manage to meet his eyes, and when I do, I find some regret and nervousness.

I know I don't want to go to the Ball with anyone but Cedric, and I hope he feels the same way. But I know we're not allowed to go together, and I'm sure we're not allowed to open the Ball alone.

Finding it hard to speak, Cedric says, "Fleur...."

"What?" I say, my heart picking up speed. "Why does your voice sound like zat?"

He sounds as if he's going to break something tragic to me.

"Fleur, I- I asked someone to the Ball," he says. I open my mouth to say something angry, but he quickly speaks again, "I only did it because I knew we weren't able to go together- Fleur, we can't go alone-"

"'oo did you ask?" I demand, because it's the first thing I want to know.

He waits, as if gauging my reaction- will I go and kill her, or simply give her the cold shoulder- and then says, "Cho Chang."

"Ze Ravenclaw?" I spit.

He winces.

"You 'ave talked about 'er before, non?" I accuse, because I can remember him bringing her up and saying she was nice. She is nice- she was never anything but nice to me- but- URGH! I want to rip her hair out and scratch at her face.

"Fleur-"

I cut him off, "'ave you not?"

"I have," he says, looking down for a second. "We've always been friends- And we talked and- It started before I even met you."

I scoff, "But you steel talked to 'er- you were wiz her- dateeng- even after we started to be togezzer?"

Suddenly, I feel as if I'm going to throw up.

He nods, and my stomach drops further.

"Fleur, I didn't mean to-"

"Non," I say, putting my hand up, silencing him. "Je ne- I do- I do not want to speak to you right now."

I start to walk back down the narrow passageway, but he grabs my wrist, trying to turn me around.

"Fleur, listen to me," he says, his hand circling around my wrist.

With my free hand, I push him away, wrenching my wrist free. I'm afraid I'm going to start crying- My throat is burning and my sight is going watery. He can't see me cry. But I feel so betrayed- Am I not good enough for him? He needs _her_ too?

I'm hurrying away from him, through the narrow corridors, looking for a way out, and he's trying to stop me, saying, "Please, let me explain."

He grabs my wrist again, and I lose it, turning and shouting, "Leave me alone!" I shout it in French, and my voice is shrill and accented, echoing in the small space. It's loud, and I'm suddenly embarrassed. But he gets the point, and he lets go of my hand. I turn and hurry away from him, and I know he's not following me.

I get as far away from him as I can, and when I feel as if I'm completely isolated within the walls of the castle, I sit on the floor in another dead-end. I don't care about spiders or dust, or anything. I just sit and cry. I let the betrayal and the hurt wash out of me through my tears, and I hug my legs for comfort. I thought- I don't know what I thought. I shouldn't be surprised that he asked someone else- I knew we couldn't go together. Am I being stupid? No! He's been with Cho, while he's been sneaking around with me. And I suddenly feel a fiery hatred toward this girl, but I don't even really know her. I know that she's _nice_, and the fact that I've been sneaking around with the boy she's openly seeing- I feel dirty and mean. The shame is hot and thick and it makes my stomach twist, and I hide my face in my knees, embarrassed. Every stereotype of Veelas stealing husbands and boyfriends comes to mind. I hear Angele's voice, saying, "Come on Laure, you're better off without her," when they discovered Jean-Pierre forcing himself upon me. It makes me cry harder. I didn't know Cedric was with someone else. I wanted it to only be me.

_Delicate._

I force myself to stop crying, and when I feel my face isn't swollen and red anymore, I stand and dust myself off, sniffing and breathing roughly.

Exit the walls through the first hidden doorway I find, I navigate my way through the halls. On the way, I contemplate finding Viktor and telling him what's happened, but I decide to leave it for tomorrow.

Right now, I just want my bed. I want the sweet comfort of sleep.

* * *

In the dormitory, I rifle through my clothes and retrieve my silken pants and sweater. As I'm rummaging around for my slippers, Angele approaches me.

"Fleur, Laure and I have figured out the egg."

Rolling my eyes, I don't turn around as I say, "Angele, I'm in no mood for you right now."

"Don't you want to hear what we've figured out?" she asks, annoyed.

"No," I say, standing up. I walk around her, heading for the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

She huffs, saying, "It's obviously the screams of the champions as they die."

I ignore her. Really, I'm sick of her little attempts at scaring me. Right now, I just don't care. All I can think about is Cedric and Cho.

I wash my face with icy water in the empty bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror as the droplets fall off of my nose, looking like diamonds embedded into my eyelashes. There's no secret. I know I'm beautiful. But, beauty doesn't matter right now. Cedric is still with Cho too. I'm more beautiful than she is, I'm Veela, but that doesn't seem to matter. All of those times I wished I wasn't as beautiful as I am- wished I was just normal so people wouldn't see my face alone- wished people cared more about me than my looks- and right now, that's the case, isn't it? But I don't like it. It hurts. Usually my beauty is my one safeguard, but even the small Veela power in me isn't enough to keep Cedric interested in me alone, and it makes my chest ache. It's not my lack of power, it's about being hurt by someone I really like.

I've never been brokenhearted before, but I'm pretty sure this comes close.


	23. Left Unmended

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for the reviews! I really appreciate the feedback! I'm glad the bittersweetness of the last chapter was received well, and that no one was angry about it. It was necessary, and I'm glad you all liked it. Anyway, things are going to continue to be a little bittersweet this chapter, and then we'll have the Yule Ball! Woo hoo! Hope you all enjoy chapter twenty-three! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
Left Unmended**

When I tell Roger Davies that I'm willing to go to the ball with him, he grins and bounces on his feet.

I am not so happy though.

The only reason I'm going with him is because I can't open the ball without a partner. And besides, I won't give Cedric the chance to see me attending the ball alone. I need to seem as if I'm unbothered by his infidelity. Mama would be proud that I'm moving on and doing what is strong and dignified. Even if I think Roger is clingy, and kind of like an overgrown puppy, I'll go with him. But I don't know whether I even like him as a person, or pity him.

The day after I tell Roger about the ball, I go to the Great Hall during dinner. I'm feeling all together dejected and depressed again, and I hate it. If having had Cedric in my life, and now out, is going to make my time at Hogwarts even worse, then I'd rather I never met him. But what am I going to do? Wash out my own memory? Non. Instead, I've just been distracting myself. Right now, I'm going to help Gabrielle pack upstairs, so I'm just grabbing something for us to eat as we gather her clothes and books.

Before I enter the Hall though, I feel a hand on my arm.

Turning, I see Cedric there, and he lets go, looking both sheepish and determined.

All around us, students are streaming into the Hall, oblivious to the tension between us, eager to eat. As far as everyone else is concerned, we're just discussing something Tournamental.

I stare at him hard, my eyes cold and stony. Within my chest, my heart thump-thumps against my ribcage and my stomach disappears. Suddenly, I feel hollow and cold and unbelievably empty. On the outside, I keep my demeanor cool and aloof- my spine straight and my chin held high, waiting. I can see him grow a little nervous, and he works at keeping himself standing straight and tall.

"May I 'elp you?" I ask stonily.

Taking a step toward me, he says, "Fleur, you have to let me explain."

I give him an icy laugh and step back, saying, "I do not 'ave to allow you to do anyzing."

I suddenly wish I didn't have an accent- or that he could speak French.

"Fleur, please-"

"Non!" I snap, and he looks around anxiously. "I 'ave no problem wiz us being a secret pour ze Tournament- mais I will not be a secret parce que you 'ave une petite amie!"

My voice is getting increasingly shrill and hysterical, so I lower it, breathing angrily through my nose, tense.

He looks upset and strained as he says, "I can't-"

"I do not care," I say, cutting him off. "Eet does not matter to me."

He stares at me for a moment, his lips set in a line that I can't decode. Suddenly, he says, "I heard you're going to the Ball with Roger."

My heart thrums and I wonder, hopefully, if he's jealous.

Ah, zut, Fleur! Stop investing so much weight on what this boy feels for you!

"Oui, c'est vrai," I reply, my voice cold enough to freeze the warm, shining pond at Beauxbatons.

He shakes his head, his mouth hinting at a smile, "I don't get it."

"Zere eez nuzzing to _get_," I reply, my eyes narrowed.

"What do you see in him, Fleur?"

I let out an incredulous laugh and say, "You 'ave no right to be questioneeng 'oo I decide to go to ze Ball wiz- I deed not speak anyzing about your precieux Sho!" I wince at my own accent again.

He suddenly looks as if he's tasted something sour and he leans closer to me, "Fleur, if you'd just let me-"

"FLOOR! WILL YOU GO TO THE BALL WITH ME?!"

Cedric looks over my shoulder, an annoyed look in his eyes as he stares. Turning slowly, I see a tall, gangly boy with bright red hair standing a meter or so behind me. I am in no mood for this and I'm sure it shows on my face- emanates from my body. My lip curls slightly, as I realize he just _screamed_ an invitation at me. If I was completely Veela, he'd probably have no eyebrows left from an uncontrollable fireball. I only wish.

His ears go red, and then the color drains into the rest of his face. From red, he quickly turns a purplish color and he swallows deeply.

Is he shaking too?

Suddenly, he gives a little squeal and turns tail, running away, leaving a laughing audience in his wake.

Behind me, Cedric sighs a little. I turn to him and give him a cold glare, saying, "Au revoir, Cedreek," and move into the Great Hall, ignoring him.

* * *

"Fleur!"

I ignore my sister as I grab an armful of freshly charmed-to-stay-wrinkle-free clothes and throw them into her suitcase. With a determination and fury that I can't control, I grab a pair of shoes off the floor- are these even hers?- and chuck them in too.

"Arret! You beast!" she grabs my arms and pushes me away from her trunk. "You're dirtying my clothes- and those shoes are Georgette's, besides."

Sighing, I step back and sit on my bed, feeling my whole body sag. "Je suis desolee, Gabri," I say, knotting my fingers together.

She takes the shoes out and throws them under the adjacent bed, taking out everything I've thrown in and placing it all on her bed again. From here, she lines her suitcase with the books she's decided to bring home- books for her to practice her English, work on some homework, and show our parents what we're doing at Hogwarts. Then, she sets about carefully folding each article of clothing and placing them in her valise neatly. I watch her doing this, feeling as if she's the older sister, and me, the baby.

"What is the matter with you, anyway?" she asks, tossing aside the skirt of her uniform on her bed.

I sigh again, "Nothing."

She stops what she's doing and gives me a dubious look that sickly reminds me of Mama.

"Gabrielle," I begin, pausing. "If I tell you something- will you promise it to keep it yourself?" I ask her.

She narrows her eyes at me and asks, "What have you done?"

"Nothing. It's just- No one can know," I tell her. "Not even Mama or Papa- d'accord?"

"D'accord," she says, smiling greedily.

As I look at her, I realize that I can't tell her. There's something about my relationship- or lack of a relationship- with Cedric that feels _painfully_ private. I feel bad, as she seems so eager to share a secret with me, but I know I can't tell her. Even if she can keep it to herself- this is between me and Cedric. And, yes, Viktor knows, but only because he helped make it happen. I'm not going to drag anyone else into this though.

So I tell her something that isn't technically a secret, but could be.

"I'm scared for the second task."

She rolls her eyes, "That's not a secret, Fleur."

"Maybe not to you," I say. "What if I can't figure out the clue?"

This is something I am scared of, but not what is on my mind.

"You will," she says. "Besides, you have until February."

We fall silent and I'm so agitated that I wish I at least had the habit of biting my nails for comfort.

* * *

On Christmas Eve I stand in the doorway of the Great Hall. I feel as if I haven't seen Viktor in ages, and I'd like to talk to him- see if he wants to take a walk after dinner so he can help me with the Cedric situation.

He catches my eye as he approaches with a few of his friends, who he tells to go on to the table as he stops and talks to me.

"Fleur," he says with a rejuvenated smile. "How are you to be doing?"

I nod, "I am all right."

"Have you been hearing?" he asks, grinning a little. "I am to be going to the Yule Ball with Hermy-own?"

What?

"'oo?" I ask.

"Harry Potter's friend," he looks around the room, then gestures toward another one of the long tables. "The one haffing the hair."

Peering across the Hall, I spot Harry, and then see a girl with big, bushy hair next to him. Oh, Viktor- Really?

I try to smile, "'ow nice."

He seems so happy that I'm not going to criticize him.

"I haf been hearing that you are to be going with Roger Davies- from Hogvarts?" he asks.

I nod, my smile disappearing.

"Vat is wrong?"

"Eet eez Cedreek," I say, quietly, so no one else can hear.

He knots his eyebrows, looking worried, "Vat is it being?"

"Viktor, 'e 'as been seeing anuzzer girl," I say, ignoring the clench in my throat. "And never told me!"

"Vat?"

I nod.

"But he-"

I shake my head, "'e was juste-" I continue shaking my head. "'e does not like me- vraiment."

"Fleur, you are not knowing-"

"I _know_!" I say, my eyes burning. "He lies to me!"

Viktor looks sad for me, and he says, "Fleur, I am sorry."

Over his shoulder I see Cedric walking down the grand staircase, towards the Great Hall. He's walking with the pretty and sweet girl with dark hair and kind eyes- Cho Chang. They're talking. Not laughing or fighting or anything special, just talking. They're not even holding hands. But they're public and they're together, and it reminds me that he's been seeing her while we've been sneaking around- and I should have known! I should have seen it. And I feel dirty and cruel- that stereotype Veela again- but more than anything else, I feel empty and alone. I _miss_ him.

Viktor turns and sees the two walking toward the entrance and he asks, "Are you being okay?"

I swallow, try to nod- fail.

"Vould you like me to be beating him up?"

A laugh jumps up my throat, sounding like a hiccup.

As Cedric and Cho approach the Hall, he looks up and meets my eyes. She doesn't notice, and he holds my gaze until he's right beside me. And I can smell him and I really, _really_ miss him.

"Hey Fleur, Viktor," he says, as if we are all just champions and friends. But when his eyes meet mine, he seems as if he's apologizing with his entire heart.

I look away from him, and my eyes fall on Cho.

She smiles, "Hi Fleur."

I only manage a twitch of the lips for her, and then they're both passing through the doors and into the Great Hall.

"How are you being now?"

Swallowing thickly, I say, "I do not zink I am going to go to le diner- I will see you later."

And I exit the Great Hall, retreating to the empty Tour de Terreur because I think I need to cry.

* * *


	24. Joyeux Noel

**Author's Note:** It would have been cool to have this chapter up _for_ Christmas but..... I guess I'm not that cool. Thank you so much for the reviews! EEEEEEEEK! I love them so much. sweetsonata: Oh no no no no, it would be hypocritical for me to get mad at you because of that. I'm a huge Twilight fan and I'm a Robert Pattinson fangirl also, and I usually envision him as he looked in Twilight when writing this, because, let's face it, he was unbelievably gorgeous in that movie! Haha. Hope everyone likes chapter twenty-four!

**  
Chapter Twenty-Four  
Joyeux Noe****l**

As I descend the stairs- only moments prior to the beginning of the ball- I can see heads turning and eyes soaring up, onto me. I don't blush, and I don't preen- I don't even smile. I don't want to be attending this ball, and I don't want to see Cho and Cedric together. All I want is to be in France, snuggled up by the fire with Gabrielle and Papa's dogs, warm and content, reading fairy tales and talking about Papa Noel. Mais non, I'm in this awful castle, freezing and miserable, being ogled by anyone within a twelve-foot-distance, about to dance with a boy I don't like and endure an evening I don't want to be a part of.

When I reach the foot of the stairs, Roger is waiting, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

I stand before him and stare at him impatiently- unhappily.

"Y-Y-Y-Y-You look beau-beautiful," he manages.

"Yes."

He continues to stare.

Glancing once across the entrance hall, I turn back to him and ask, "Shall we go?"

"O-Oh! Y-Y-Yes," and he takes the arm I've offered him.

We cross the entrance hall together, and Roger stares at me sideways. I, however, ignore him, and discreetly sweep my eyes along the faces around me.

Everyone is dressed in beautiful gowns and elegant dress robes, their hair fashioned and their spirits high. It's such a juxtaposition to the Hogwarts uniform, that I can't help but appreciate the way it feels to see it all, and take it all in. I absorb the energy and the cacophony around me, hoping it will improve my own mood. All of the students around us are chatting and complimenting one another, fawning over their clothes, blushing at admirers, buzzing about the dance that is about to follow, and exuding a sense of excitement and happiness that I just can't pick up, though I desperately wish I could. Beside me, Roger is nearly strutting- he's so pleased with his prize of a date. But I can't even take this as a compliment- my mood is so foul that I just want to punch him in the nose.

I'm almost humored by this idea when I see him, and I very nearly stop dead in my tracks.

Cedric's dressed in the finest of suits and dress robes- pure onyx and stark white, contrasting one another and making him look even more handsome than even I thought could ever be possible. His hair is messy- as always- but it looks like a neat messy, and it makes him look so devastating that my heart flips in my chest. He's standing by a portrait of an old man in a greenhouse, and he's talking to Cho easily- happily. She looks extremely pretty, with her dark hair up and loose- an ironic contrast to my tight, pale knot of hair with the cold crystals sprouting from it- and she's dressed in a beautiful kimono of silver and pink.

Maybe it's because she looks so pretty and she's with Cedric- or maybe not, I don't know- but seeing her in that kimono makes me want to punch her in the nose as well.

First Cho, then Roger.

From across the room, as Roger stalls to say hello to a group of his friends, Cedric turns his head and his eyes graze over me. He does a slight double-take that Cho misses, and stares at me, unbidden. Our eyes steel into one another, and I feel myself tremble slightly, shot up with adrenaline and nervousness. The look in Cedric's amber eyes is one of longing and regret, and I feel a weight drop onto my chest.

Mon Dieu, this is painful.

But at the same time, I'm glad he's longing for me. I tighten my arm around Roger's and turn away from Cedric haughtily.

I can do this.

I'll show him that Fleur Delacour is not one to sit around and mope about a boy's infidelity.

No matter who devilishly handsome and-

"Miss Delacour, Mr. Davies."

Roger and I both turn and come face to face with Professor McGonagall, looking slightly rushed and distracted.

"I'll need you two to stand over here," she says, taking our shoulders and corralling us to stand beside the Great Hall's massive doors. "And don't move."

She walks away and hurries over to Cedric and Cho. My heart thuds in my chest as I watch her usher them both over to where we stand.

When she hurries off again- presumably to look for Viktor, Harry Potter, and their dates- the four of us are left standing in a thick silence. And I don't know if it's just me and the circumstances, but I feel like it's harsh and awkward, and I wish I could physically step away from this unpleasantness.

"Fleur," Cho says. "I really like your dress."

Why does she have to be so sincere and sweet? Mon Dieu, I'd rather she was like Angele.

I look down from her eyes and say, "Merci. And you- You look bee-yoo-tee-full."

She smiles sweetly at me and I feel my chest tighten.

Cho looks toward the Great Hall doors, and I look up to make eye contact with Cedric. I send him a dirty look that I'm sure does exactly what I want it to do- make him feel as if he's been dropped in a vat of ice water. How dare he see me behind Cho's back? She's so sweet and genuine and- How could he do that to both of us? I shake my head subtly, satisfied at the shame and regret that flares and pulses behind his eyes.

"Fleur. Cedric."

Though Cedric doesn't look away, I turn when Viktor approaches us.

He's arm-in-arm with a fairly pretty brown-haired girl, clad in a floaty dress of pinks and ruffles, smiling as if she can't believe her luck- as if she's just a little nervous to be a date at all. And- I thought he said she had big hair?

"Viktor," Cedric says, trying to sound amiable. "Looking forward to the big dance?"

Viktor looks from me to Cedric discreetly- so Cedric hardly even notices- and says, "Not vairy much," with a little smile.

"Fleur." Cedric asks, "You?"

I give him an icy look and say, "Oui," before turning my head slightly so that I'm mostly looking at Roger.

Harry Potter and his date join us next, and before I know it, the whole entrance hall is being emptied, and the other students ushered into the Great Hall. When everyone is inside, the doors are closed and we're lined up. First Roger and me, then Viktor and his date, Cedric and Cho, and then Harry and his date. McGonagall gives us some brief directions, and then disappears into the Great Hall as well.

When the music starts and the doors open, we step forward and are greeted by our peers and our teachers, clapping and smiling brightly at us. As we make our way along the aisle they've made- toward the dance floor- my breath is taken away by what has been done to Hogwarts's Great Hall.

Everything is covered in glittering whites and silvers. The Hall is a winter wonderland of crystal and snow and faux ice, with pretty garlands of pine and ivy placed appropriately around the room. The massive pine trees at the front of the room are coated in generous amounts of fluffy snow and ice. Thick flakes of glittering snow fall from the ceiling, evaporating before they can reach anyone's head. I have to admit, it's more beautiful than anything I've ever seen at Beauxbatons- concerning halls turned into wintry glades, anyway.

Taking a place on the empty dance floor with the other champions, Roger and I get into position, and I can feel his palm sweating- his whole body shaking before mine. Briefly, I glance over at Cedric and Cho. She's smiling up at him, her hand on his shoulder, but he looks a little distracted, as if he's trying to smile but is having some difficulty.

The music starts up and we begin to swing around the dance floor, Roger dancing like a clumsy oaf, and me trying to be as patient as I can, trying to resist the urge to lead _him_.

I know- even now- that this is going to be a very long night.

* * *

The Weird Sisters are loud. And the Hogwarts students, upon seeing them, might be even louder.

I dance with Roger to a few songs- fast and slow- only because he begs me to. Apparently he's a big fan of the Weird Sisters. And on the dance floor- when he's trying to dance- he looks as if he's having a fit. I very nearly contemplate leaving him there, but I see Cedric and Cho, dancing, with Cedric looking only marginally regretful, so I continue to dance with Roger. But the songs are loud, and the bass violent, and I don't even understand the lyrics- they're too fast and _English_- so I'm not having the best time. Besides, my Veela heritage is urging me to dance properly, but I doubt my leaping and twirling around the room would go over well with anyone. Least of all, me.

So after a particularly fast song, when I'm beginning to perspire amidst these packed, gyrating bodies, I grab my wrap and drag Roger outside.

From here, the music isn't so loud, and the night has turned clear and bright. The snow on the ground is fresh, but the sky is no longer clouded over, and everything is hushed, but vibrant. Roger and I walk along the pathways winding within an impromptu rose garden, and I greedily inhale the strong scent of roses and open earth. Roger on the other hand, stares at me.

"You're beautiful," Roger says, when we've reached a beautiful little fountain, in the center of the garden.

I'm in no mood for Roger's pathetic compliments, so I just say, "Yes."

When I shiver slightly, Roger snakes an arm around my waist, with the false intention of keeping me warm. I only pull away slightly, before allowing him to pull me to him completely. He leads me between the two nearest rose bushes and smiles down at me. I can't help but notice that his bushy eyebrows get a little high when he smiles like that. I only stare up at him, not wanting to be alone with him in the bushes, not wanting to tag him along, not wanting to disappoint him or hurt him. He's _nice_, but I can't help wishing I was here with Cedric- with Cedric's arms around me instead of Roger's.

I don't know why- maybe out of pointless spite because of Cedric- but I let Roger kiss me. His lips are rough and anxious against mine, but I try not to think about it. When he presses me up against a marble dais with a statue of a wolf on it, I don't verbally object- he thinks I like him, he thinks this is what I want- though in the back of my head I'm rolling my eyes and scoffing at him. It's only when his hands are done roaming all over my back- when they try to come around the front- that I pull away and stop him.

"Fleur?" he asks.

I shake my head, "Je suis frois- I am cold."

He pulls me closer to him, "Is this better?"

Non.

"Per'aps we should go eenside again- Maybe we can take some punch-"

"I'd rather stay out here," he says, nuzzling my cheek with his nose. "Wouldn't you?"

Non. Garcon, I didn't actually want to be your date.

I pull away from him and try to walk back through the bushes, but he takes my hand, stalling me.

"Are you trying to tease me?" he asks with a mischievous smile, when I look back at him questioningly.

Why is it that boys are shy with me, until I give them a chance and give them a little attention? Why does that glimpse of my attention turn them into lustful dogs?

I shake my head, my memory plucking up a hint of those feelings I knew in October- when Jean-Pierre had forced himself upon me in my room. I'm not going to have to fight Roger off, am I?

"Roger, Fleur, there you are."

Turning, I see Cedric making his way from behind a shrub, to us.

"Cedric," Roger says, and he sounds more than a little annoyed.

I stare at him, and he only makes eye contact with me once- and briefly- before turning to Roger and saying, "I heard Dumbledore talking to the Weird Sisters' manager about a student going on stage with them. I mean, I don't know if it's definite, but Dumbledore said your name to the guy, and then mentioned that he couldn't find you anywhere."

Roger's eyes bulge, and he looks at me, and then at Cedric and blurts, "Are you serious?!"

"Yeah!" Cedric says. "You might want to get in there."

Roger walks around both Cedric and I, and through the bushes, calling, "Come on, Fleur!" over his shoulder as an afterthought.

I don't follow him though, I turn to Cedric and stare at him among the roses instead.

"Eez zat true?" I ask him.

He smirks a little, saying, "No, but I had to get him away from you."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, "Zat was unnecessary of you-" he cuts me off by grabbing my wrist before I can walk away from him.

"Fleur, please."

I stare at him defiantly.

"Please, I've been going mad," he says. "You need to let me explain."

"Explain?" I retort bitterly- sarcastically. "I 'ave no idea what you are speakeeng of."

He looks wounded, "Fleur, please."

I shut up for a minute, and then ask, "Won't Sho meess you?"

Looking as if I've punched him in the stomach, he says, "She had a headache- she went back upstairs."

I only look at him, giving a forced sweet smile that makes him look sick when he sees it.

"Fleur, Cho and I started talking and hanging out last year," he says, and I can see that it's hard for him to speak. "I liked her and we were friends and- things changed."

"You mean you began to see each uzzer," I spit.

He stares at me for a moment, then nods sadly. "We wrote over the summer and our families spent time together on holiday and it was nice," he tells me, and I wonder why he's doing it. I don't want to hear this. "And then September came and then October and I started preparing for the Tournament and talking to my parents and my friends about it- and that was all I thought about."

I swallow.

"Things with Cho didn't end, but they lessened."

"Zat does not make eet fine," I say, whispering a little hysterically.

He nods again, "I know." He pauses, looking down, and then he shakes his head, "When I met you in October- Merlin, I couldn't ignore how beautiful you were."

It stings. His words.

"And it surprised me that a girl as beautiful as you was going to be in the Tournament, and I was impressed," he says. "Then, when you asked me to give you a tour of the school, and then to read to you about the dragons- I thought you liked me, but I wasn't going to leave Cho for you."

My mouth falls open a little.

He doesn't let me speak though. Instead, he continues, "After the first task, when you and I were hanging out with Viktor in the tent while Harry was going through with the task- I couldn't help but start to realize my feelings for you." He shrugs, shaking his head a little, "And then with the English lessons...."

I stare at him, waiting to hear what he's going to say next.

"How could I deny what I felt for you, Fleur?"

_Is it because I'm part Veela?_ I ask myself, and the question makes me feel miserable.

"And you kissed me," he whispers, taking a step toward me.

"You keesed me back!" I say defensively, and my voice shakes.

He rushes to speak again, "I know! And it was because I wanted to- because I was falling for you." A frown falls upon his face and he says, "And even though my relationship with Cho was dwindling I couldn't break it off with her- I just- I couldn't."

My eyes are set on him, and I know he can feel the anger and hurt emanating from me.

"Fleur, you have to understand that I've never done anything like this before," he begs of me. "I never planned to do any of this."

Something about his words- maybe the earnest sincerity in them- makes me believe him.

"I did it because I couldn't bear to hurt either of you," he says. "I care for Cho."

I almost reel back at his words.

He softly says, "But I love you."

Freezing, I stare at him.

"Or- Je t'aime- whichever you prefer," he says, smirking a little.

I laugh a little, and it comes out like a little hiccup.

Taking another step towards me, Cedric says, "Please don't end us because of this."

He stares into my eyes, silently begging me. Looking deep behind his irises and his pupils, I see honesty and yearning- I see that he's not trying to play me or lie to me or deceive me. He loves me, and I can't see Cho or Roger or Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, France and this foreign country- I can't see the Tournament or the competition. All I see is his love for me- his face and his eyes- and all I hear are his words.

"Please," he says again.

I walk forward and close the distance between us, grasping his face in my hands and urging him to wrap me in his arms, which he does- because we've missed each other so much.

"Je t'aime aussi," I whisper. "I love you."

And he smiles, leaning in and kissing me softly.


	25. Le Reveillon

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
Le Reveillon**

The day following Christmas finds me shivering- of course- and staying under the covers of my bed, reading and nibbling on the chocolates my parents sent for me. The other girls are clustered together, giggling and enthralling each other with stories of the Yule Ball, leaving the dormitory in pairs and groups. I pay them little attention though. Instead, I remain in bed, feeling sluggish and content- despite the cold- savoring my sweets and smiling to myself whenever I think of Cedric. And I can't help it. I'm floating on some kind of cloud. Before Christmas, everything felt wrong- strained and difficult- but ever since last night I've felt light and happy, and I can't stop smiling.

I'm in love with him.

There's no doubt in my mind. I know he still has feelings for Cho- though, what those feelings are, I can't be sure- but I don't even care anymore. Life isn't black and white, and love isn't concrete and easy. This triangle that we're a part of will work itself out and everything will be right. I know it will.

It _will_.

When afternoon rolls around, the dormitory is empty. My stomach is growling from a digested breakfast of chocolate, and my body is getting restless and cramped from laying in bed all day.

I take a warm bath and dress quickly, before heading downstairs for le petit dejeuner.

On the staircase leading down to the Great Hall, I bump into Viktor.

"'ow was ze Ball pour toi?" I ask, as we fall in step beside one another.

Viktor smiles, saying, "Very good. And you?"

"Good," I can't even bite back the grin that pulls up my lips.

"You and the Hogvarts boy got on?" he asks, looking surprised.

I shake my head, "Non. Mais je- zeengs wiz Cedric are as zey were."

"You mean- he is no longer being vith that girl?"

My heart hitches in my chest, but I ignore it, saying, "Non, mais- c'est- eet eez compleecated."

"Oh, I think I am understanding," he replies amiably, but I don't think he really does understand. I don't press him though.

We go to our separate tables when we enter the Great Hall, and I join a few of the girls who want to chatter with me about the ball. I listen to them go on about their dates and the drama they endured, and field off questions about Roger and how my night went. I'm vague and blasse, and they manage to fill up the conversation with enthusiastic recollections and excited commentary. In fact, they're so deep in their own words, that they don't notice when Cedric walks behind them and tilts his head subtly- as if indicating for me to follow him. The girls don't notice when I give him one nod in return.

Once he has left the hall, and there is a faint break in the conversation, I say that I'm going to go write a letter home, and that I'll see them later.

Cedric is waiting outside of the Great Hall, standing and glancing absently out of one of the windows there. When he hears my footsteps, he turns and looks at me smiling.

For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he wants to tell me that he's ended things with Cho, but when I look at him properly, I see that there's no hurt in his eyes, and I know that that can't be what he wants me here for.

"Walk with me?"

I nod and follow him out of the castle and onto the grounds.

When we're far enough from the castle, he takes my hand in his and subltly pulls me closer to him as we walk.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you something last night," he says.

He and Cho aren't together anymore?

I look at him with innocent eyes and reply with, "Oh?"

"The egg."

What is he talking about?

I knit my eyebrows and look away from him, trying to figure out what he means.

"The clue from the first task," he clarifies.

"Oh!" It seems obvious now. "You 'ave figured it out?"

He shrugs, "I got it to stop shrieking."

"Deed you?"

For some reason, I don't feel relief or excitement over this news.

"Fleur, you tipped me off when it came to the dragons," he says, stopping and facing me.

I shake my head, "I only asked you to read to me."

He smiles that crooked smile of his and strokes my cheek with his free hand, "I want to help you with this task."

My heart thumps in my chest and I turn this idea over in my brain. Do I allow Cedric to tell me the secret to figuring out the egg? Do I work with him to figure out what it means, if he hasn't already figured it out completely? Something in me wants to feel that relief- that easiness of just _knowing_ already- of not having to figure it out and do the work. But another part of me is disgusted by the thought of not doing this on my own- stuck fast to the idea of telling him to keep his discoveries to himself. Madame told me about the dragons before I could prevent it- and maybe that was okay after all. They were _dragons_ after all. But I want to go through with the second task without help from anyone else. I entered the Tournament to prove myself, and I can't do that if everyone's giving me the answers for everything.

"Zat eez.... nice of you," I say carefully. "Mais- I would like to try to compre'end eet on my own."

He looks surprised, but smiles and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, asking, "Are you sure?"

I nod.

"Man," he says. "You're good."

I smile a little, saying, "Non. Only determeened," and I hope that's the right word for it in English.

"Are you going to give me a run for my money, then?" he asks.

I knit my eyebrows together, "Pourquoi would I make you run for ton argent?"

He shakes his head with a grin and says, "Never mind."

"You are so strange," I say, my eyebrows still furrowed.

"And you are so French," he says, kissing me lightly.

When he pulls away I smirk at him and say, "Merci bien."

* * *

I enjoy my Christmas holiday thoroughly.

When I'm not spending time with Cedric in abandoned classrooms or under heaps of blankets at the top of Astronomy Tower, I'm sleeping late and ignoring my homework. It feels good to be lazy and to be unable to care less about things. It's rejuvenating and wonderful and it makes me feel as if I can take on my lessons and the language barrier and everything that comes with them at the beginning of term. My only complaint is that I wish the holiday was longer. And I wish that the second task wasn't on the other side of it.

If there was anything preventing me from enjoying my break to the fullest, it's the stress of the second task. I know I could have just taken whatever information Cedric wanted to give me, but then I know I would feel lowly about it afterwords. So I try to push the egg and the task out of my head all together, promising myself that I'll think about it all as soon as the holiday is over. A hollow promise, yes, but the least I can do to keep myself sane.

For now though, I distract myself with staying up late, sleeping in, and thinking about tonight's New Year's celebration.

In France, Mama and Papa have friends and family over for a feast and dancing for le Reveillon. There's beautiful music, wonderful food, amusing games and entertainment, and tons and tons of champagne. It's one of my favorite holidays of the year. But at Hogwarts, they have a slightly special dinner, and then they all hang around their common rooms, with music and contraband alcohol, waiting for midnight to come around.

A few of the other girls- Lucille, Amandine, Charlotte, Georgette, and Therese- get invited to the Hufflepuff common room for a party, and I know Cedric's in Hufflepuff, so I tag along.

When we arrive, I find that other houses are here too, and, to my disgust, I see Cho Chang sitting with a few Hufflepuff girls. Thankfully, Cedric is nowhere in her general proximity.

"Come on, Fleur," Therese says, and she drags me into the dancing bodies, toward the Hufflepuff boys who invited her and the other girls here.

We all make awkward conversation- the girls giggling and cooing, and the boys trying to be tough and funny. The language barrier is evident, and trying to understand what's going on between the volley of horribly accented and incomprehensible English makes me want to scoff and turn away.

One of the guys- I think his name is Martin- looks over Lucille's shoulder and says, "Oi! Ced! We're hanging out with one of your opponents over here!" and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Turning around, I see Cedric coming over. He smiles and says hello to me, then to the rest of the girls, when he joins the group, and after a moment of talking and exchanging jokes, everyone turns their attention away from us- the interacting champions- and continues to talk and flirt in misshapen English.

"Are you having a good time?" Cedric asks me, his voice low enough so that no one else can hear us under the blare of the wireless radio nearby.

I shrug.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?" he asks. "We have firewhiskey, Wendla wine, some pretty bad mead, and some spiked pumpkin juice."

I wrinkle my nose, but say, "Wendla wine, s'il te plait."

He nods, and says, "Be right back."

I move away from the group discreetly and stand against the wall nearby, watching everyone enjoying themselves in the warm, cozy common room, while the wind whistles outside.

"Where have you been hiding yourself?"

The words are in French, and they're right by my ear. Just from the way he smells- like poorly made mead and pine- and the way he's invading my personal space, I know who it is.

Turning and give Jean-Pierre a death-like glare, I step back and say, "Shouldn't you be tending to Madame's horses?"

He smirks, "Shouldn't you stop trying to seduce the opponent?" He tilts his head and asks, "Do you think sleeping with him will win you the tournament, ma petite-"

"Don't you dare," I say through a clenched jaw. "I'm not ta petite- I'm not your anything. Why are you even here?"

He shrugs, saying, "I've made friends with some of the Hogwarts students."

"You're pathetic," I say, rolling my eyes.

Taking a piece of my hair in his fingers, he says, "You're a tease-"

I push away from him and spit, "And you're disgusting!" and I turn, pushing my way through bodies, to the fireplace. I take a seat before the crackling flames, and stare into them, feeling agitated and restless all of a sudden. And when I feel a hand on my shoulder, I jump.

Some of the wine in the cup Cedric's holding, sloshes to the floor and he steps back, asking, "Are you all right?"

"I am fine."

"Are you sure? You seem kind of jumpy."

I shake my head and take the cup from him, saying, "Bien," and I take a long, greedy swig of wine.

* * *

Some time after Cedric leaves me to spend time with Cho, I switch from wine to Firewhiskey, and because Jean-Pierre keeps leering at me from wherever he is in the room, I don't stop drinking all night. The world gets fuzzy and warm first, and I feel a sluggish contentment fall over me. Who cares if Cedric is across the room, talking and laughing with Cho and her friends? Who cares if Laure's boyfriend- who once tried to rape me- is stalking around the party, staring at me? What does it matter? What does anything matter? I feel so careless and silly that I sit by myself, drinking, staring at the fire and smiling in my cloud of drunkenness.

But by the time midnight rolls around, and everyone is cheering around me, kissing one another and shrieking and hugging, I'm bleary eyed and I can't stand straight.

Amongst the commotion, Cedric finds me and kisses my cheek, wishing me a happy new year, but I just sway on my feet and slur some incoherent French at him.

"Fleur? Are you okay?" he asks.

"Shouldn't you be with your petite amie?" I ask him, but my words are mashed together and they're in French, and from the look on his face, I can tell he doesn't understand what I'm saying.

He shakes his head, "I don't understand you."

I slip on the hem of my jeans and nearly topple backwords, but he grabs my hands and rights me.

"Are you drunk?"

I pull away from him indignantly and say, "I'm fine," but again, it's in French- my mouth doesn't seem to know how to form English words right now.

"You're drunk," he says defeatedly, looking around. "Come on, let me help you to your tower."

I sway dangerously and stumble into him, falling into his chest, saying, "Non-non!"

"Fleur-"

"I can go myself," I insist.

He ignores me and holds my arm, steering me around the room, until he finds Lucille and Amandine, saying goodbye to everyone, sober and tired-looking.

"Hello," he says to them. "Fleur here seems a little unable to make it to the Beauxbatons tower herself."

As I step away from Cedric and stumble forward, both of the girls take hold of one arm and look at me incredulously.

"We will 'elp her back," Amandine says to him.

He nods, "Thank you- Merci," and he gives me one more stern look before walking away.

As they help me out of the common room, Lucille snickers and says, "Fleur, you're going to have on hell of a headache tomorrow."

* * *

Gabrielle returns to Hogwarts on New Year's Day, and when I meet her in the entrance hall- as Lucille predicted- I have a splitting headache. We walk back upstairs, both of us holding a valise, and she asks me what's the matter. I feel foolish and embarassed, and I just shake my head, telling her I have a headache and that's all. On the way up, she prattles on about Mama and Papa and home, and tells me that they had a wonderful Christmas Eve party, and that Grandmamie got so drunk off of Papa's old apple mead, that she put a spell on Grandpapa so that he was sneezing grape juice for hours. I try to laugh at this but- urgh, alcohol.

I'm a fool.

"How was the Yule Ball?" she asks.

I brighten up at this and try to ignore my headache as I tell her, "Good."

"What was it like? What was Roger like?" she question. "Did you have fun?"

I fill her in on the all the details she wants- leaving out some significant parts about Cedric and Roger- and tell her that, although it was wonderful and great, she didn't miss out on too much.

This seems to satisfy her, and before I can stop her, she's going on and on about Aunt Jasmine and Uncle Desmond's Christmas dance with the dogs that was just so funny. And my head wants to split open.

I try to smile and nod, when I really want to bury my face in a pillow and disappear.

* * *


	26. Persecution

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
Persecution**

I have to drag myself to Muggle Studies on the first day of the new term- even though I'm running late, I'm in no hurry. My bed was so warm and inviting when I woke up that I couldn't resist lying there for a few minutes longer. But Gabrielle shook me awake just as the dormitory was emptying. So, I waved her away and told her I'd get up on my own. A dozen or so minutes past, and I seemed to wake up and realize that I would miss breakfast and the beginning of class if I didn't get up. By the time I had scrambled into some clothes though, breakfast was nearly over and I was contemplating whether or not I should even leave the Tour at all. I'm not looking forward to the first day back from holiday, and I'm allowing myself the small luxury of being late for my first class- I'm in no mood to be running through the halls when I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open.

Outside the open-air corridors, the sky is a jewel-like blue and the sun is shining brightly, but the morning has a sharp coldness to it that diminishes the brightness of the sun's rays. I try to ignore the snow that still blankets the ground, and focus on the fact that it can't be this cold for too much longer. Then again, it was awfully cold in October when we arrived, so who knows how long their winters last here. I grimace at the thought and pull my capelet closer to me.

Surprisingly enough, I'm not late for Muggle Studies. When I enter the classroom everyone is seated in their chairs, but Professor Burbage hasn't yet arrived.

The moment I step inside, the volume of everyone's chatter seems to lower just a bit, and I notice Laure sitting in the back of the room, with a group of students from each school around her. She's whispering and hissing at them with a malicious smile on her face, and several eyes turn my way as she speaks, as if I'm being sized up.

Ignoring this, I make my way down the aisle toward my seat in the front, spotting the newspaper in Laure's lap as I pass.

Is there something in the paper about the Tournament? About the champions? Me? Something about the Minister, or my father as Ambassador?

Shaking away any thoughts about Laure and her strange behavior, I sit down and take out my parchments, preparing myself for the English note-taking I'll have to endure for at least an hour.

The door opens and Professor Burbage comes bustling inside, shooing everyone out of their chattering clusters and into their seats. She reaches the front of the room and turns on us, smiling sternly, but at the same time, good-naturedly.

"Class, I hope you've all had a good holiday," she says. "And I hope you're rested and rejuvenated, because we're starting a new unit on cleaning house!"

A few students grumble from the back of the room, but she seems unable to hear them.

Starting up, she asks, "Now, who can tell me how you clean house at home- that is to say, if you were to do it with magic?"

"House elves," someone calls out, causing a few people to laugh.

I glance back and see that it's one of the boys sitting near Laure, and I roll my eyes a little.

"Well, yes," Professor Burbage says. "I suppose that _is_ one way." She looks around the room, "Someone else?"

The timid girl beside me raises her hand. When Professor Burbage calls on her, she says, "My mum usually charms the dishes to wash themselves."

"Good! Very good!"

"My aunt charms the brooms and the dusters!" someone else calls out.

Professor Burbage nods with a smile, saying, "Right, right! What else?"

I raise my hand. Professor Burbage looks at me and nods encouragingly, so I say, "My muzzer uses _scourgify_."

"Excellent, Miss Delacour!" she says, turning to write all the suggestions everyone's said on one half of the blackboard.

"'oo knew 'er muzzer leeves een a 'ouse."

The moment I hear it, I know who's said it. Turning, I see Laure sitting in her seat, with a smug smile on her face, surrounded by snickering students.

Raising an eyebrow, I retort in French, saying, "Excuse me?"

"Your muzzer," she says, looking like she's just won some kind of prize. "She's 'alf veela, n'est-ce pas?"

"Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?" I snap.

She shrugs, "Eet's juste- your muzzer eezn't even 'uman, pas vraiment."

I'm suddenly on my feet and staring at her with a fiery anger in my eyes, demanding, "Who do you think you are?" in my native tongue.

"Miss Delacour?" Professor Burbage comes over to me. "Is there something wrong?" She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I'm vibrating so furiously in heated anger, that she pulls her hand away, and follows my eyes to where they're resting on Laure. "Girls?"

Looking innocent and sweet, Laure says, "Professeur, I 'ave not ze faintest idea what eez wrong."

"Like hell you don't," I shout in French.

"Fleur?" Professor Burbage questions, obviously not understanding me.

Feeling as if I'm about to combust with anger and heat and feral screams, I abruptly turn to my teacher, saying, "Je regrette- I'm sorry, Professeur. Might I go to the bathroom for a moment?"

Looking at me as if I'm about to explode, Professor Burbage nods and says, "Of course, dear."

I swiftly turn from my seat and stalk down the aisle, careful to remain as far away from Laure as possible on my way towards the door. Once I'm outside of the classroom, I allow my angry footfalls to stomp across the stone floors, echoing all around me in harsh, erratic patterns. I know there's a girls' bathroom on this floor, and I make my way to it in record time, slamming the door behind me upon entering. Luckily, I'm alone, so I can let out the animalistic shriek that's been building up inside of me, and slam each one of the stall doors, before turning to grip one of the porcelain sinks in both of my shaking hands.

Looking at my reflection, I know- despite the anger that's throbbing within me- I'm beautiful. Though my hair is in a neat ponytail, pieces are falling around my reddened face, as if I've just been caught in a windstorm. My eyes are glassy- widened and glaring with rage. And my heart is hammering in my chest, making me breathe fast and strange.

Who does she think she is, saying my mother isn't human? Who does she think she is, saying those things in front of the class- in front of people who don't know any better? And why now? Why today? Usually she leaves the human remarks to Angele, but today.... Did it have something to do with the newspaper? Was there something in the newspaper about my being part Veela?

I suddenly feel sick. Visions of everyone in Hogwarts- host students, Beauxbatons girls, Durmstrang boys- whispering about my heritage fills my mind. I think of the satisfaction Laure and Angele will get- this is what they want, isn't it? Mama and Papa- they'll be humiliated that our bloodlines have been smeared throughout a newspaper- degraded when there's nothing bad about them. And- A new realization hits me, and I can see the horror seep under the features in my face. What will Cedric think? He already knows I'm part Veela, but if it's in a newspaper will that change the way he thinks about me? Will this change things for me where the Tournament's concerned? Will everyone always know me as the Veela who was a part of the Triwizard Tournament?

The panicked nausea becomes too much, and I run for one of the toilets, choking up bile and stomach acid- suddenly thankful that I didn't eat breakfast.

* * *

After sitting in the deserted bathroom for the remainder of the period, I rescued my books and things once the bell rang, apologized to Professor Burbage, and headed for the hospital wing. It was relatively easy to convince Madam Pomfrey that I felt too sick to go to class, and after about ten minutes, she gave me a set of pajamas, opened up a bed for me, pulled the curtain around it, and gave me a basin if I was to throw up again. And here I am now. Missing classes that I'll doubtless be unable to catch up in later, feeling a nauseating mixture of anger, embarrassment, depression, and shame.

I listen to Madam Pomfrey tending to other students in the hospital wing, and I miserably think about what that newspaper could have said- what could have made Laure mention my Veela roots and embarrass me so horribly the way she did.

For now, I choose to ignore it, burying my face in the scratchy material of the pillow, and thinking of a spring day at Printemps Mignon- of picking flowers and lounging around the pond with Gabrielle and some of the dogs.

"Miss Delacour."

I wave off the voice, wanting to bask in the warm glow of the sunny Printemps Mignon a little longer.

"Miss Delacour, you have a visitor."

I'm gently shaken from my reverie, and I realize I actually fell asleep. Rubbing at my eyes, I look around, seeing only Madam Pomfrey in my little curtained room.

Swallowing past the dryness in my throat, I ask, "What hour eez eet?"

"Nearly four," she says. "You must have been quite ill, Miss Delacour, you slept all day."

I take in this information, sitting up and trying to unfog my disoriented brain.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, putting a cold hand to my forehead.

Remembering that I did feign nausea this morning, I reply, "Better, merci."

She nods, "Feeling up to eating something?"

Now that she's mentioned it, I'm ravenous. I nod.

"Good, because there's someone here to visit- and he was kind of enough to make a trip to the kitchens for you," she says with a definitive smile. "Mr. Diggory, you may come in."

Cedric parts the curtains and smiles at us, holding a ceramic container of food.

"I noticed you weren't in Potions, so I figured you must be in here," he says, seeming unassuming- as if he doesn't have any hidden feelings for me, as if he's just a golden boy who is being kind to a fellow champion. "I asked Madam Pomfrey what you'd be up to eating- I hope chicken broth and dry bread is good?"

I nod with a weak smile, saying, "Merci beaucoup."

Madam Pomfrey nods, "Only eat if you feel like you're up to it- Do you feel as if you need an elixir for the nausea?"

I shake my head quickly, "Non. I am feeleng better now- juste 'ungry."

She's about to say something else, but the doors of the hospital wing burst open outside of my little room, and the sound of someone panting fills the ward.

"Ma'um Po'fee!" someone shouts, sounding as if they're holding their tongue. "'ed an' 'orge ma'e my 'ongue 'ell!"

She looks horrified as she says, "Oh dear!" and hurries out of the room, meeting a commotion of people with swollen tongues, waiting for her able hands.

Cedric and I fall silent in my little curtained room, and he awkwardly pulls a chair up beside my bed.

My stomach growls loudly, and I break the silence by asking, "May I 'ave my soup?"

He smiles a little and hands me the ceramic container. Lifting the lid, I find an empty bowl, separated into two sides. When I lift the lid completely away though, one side fills up with soup, and bread appears on the other side. In the middle, balancing between the two sides, is a spoon.

I tear at the bread and chew it greedily and he watches me. After a few moments, he says, "You're not really sick."

I don't answer, just drink a spoonful of my soup.

"What's up?" he wants to know, his voice low enough that we won't be heard.

I shake my head, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Fleur," he says, his voice so quiet that I know I'm the only one who can hear him- I'm the only one who can hear the concern and the determination in the way he says my name. It makes my stomach flop, and I reluctantly meet his eyes. "Needed a day off?" he offers.

I nod, but then it somehow morphs into me shaking my head, holding the bread in my hand, with the soup on my lap, looking miserable.

"Talk to me," he says. His face softens and he tries, "Parler?"

This makes me smile, but only for a second, and I look back down at my soup, breaking off a tiny piece of bread and chewing it thoughtfully.

When he doesn't press it anymore, but stares at me intently for a few moments, the sound of students with swollen tongues entering and bustling around the ward all around us, I break a little.

"Do you 'ave un journal?"

He stares at me for a minute, eyebrows knotted, and he asks, "A newspaper? Today's _Daily Prophet_?"

I nod, staring at the surface of the broth.

"One minute," he says, and then gets up, leaving the little room.

When he's gone, I try to take another sip of the broth, but I have absolutely no appetite anymore, and the food is beginning to taste metallic, so I put it all on the table beside my bed, and twist my fingers together in my lap. It doesn't take long before Cedric returns with a _Daily Prophet_, saying, "One of the first years with a swollen tongue had one."

I try to smile at this, but only manage to jerk my cheeks up a little. He hands me the paper and sits back down.

Nothing on the front page attracts my eye right away, there's some huge headline about the Minister and his thoughts on something or other- It's not important. There's some quidditch scores, an interview with a famous witch who's just been arrested for tampering with love potions, an expose on a new magical creature reserve opening in New Zealand, and- I freeze.

"What?" Cedric says. "What is it?"

I ignore him and go to the right page, my eyes roving over the words angrily- but I can't properly read English, and I'm far too frustrated to be a competent translator.

Shoving the newspaper at Cedric, I say, "Read eet to me- please."

He looks down at the article, his face registering a hint of something, and he looks back up at me, inquisitive.

"Please," I say, folding my arms across my chest. "Just read eet."

He reluctantly obliges, and though my English isn't fluent, I catch every word and every nuance of what Rita Skeeter is writing, and it makes my blood boil and my stomach acids churn threateningly. I listen as Cedric quietly reads about a teacher at Hogwarts- a teacher I hadn't even known of up until now- and his history with the school and his position here now. His voice slams against me as he reads words from students and quotes from Hagrid himself. I don't miss a thing when he reluctantly reads the part about Hargid being part-giant- nonhuman, dangerous, unpure, dirty. And when he finishes reading all of it, looking up at me with sympathy in his eyes, I feel my throat constricting and my eyes burning dangerously from what I've learned- from the realization that has hit home.

"Fleur, it's not-"

I shake my head and stop him.

We sit in silence for a long moment.

Swallownig hard, hoping the tears aren't pooling too noticably in my eyes, I ask, "Are zey going to fire 'im?"

"Hagrid?"

I nod.

Cedric rolls the newspaper up like a baton and holds it in his hands, saying, "I heard some kids talking- I don't think he was here today."

This makes me suck in a breath and look away from him.

"Fleur...."

"Eet eez because he eez 'alf-giant- because 'e eez not pure, not 'uman," I say.

Cedric looks at me sadly, at a loss for the right words.

A tear falls onto my cheek and I briskly brush at my eyes, taking a deep breath and saying, "Eez zis what ze wizardeeng world eez coming to? We fire people because they are not pure and whole?" I slip into French at the end, but I think he knows what I'm saying. "Eez zis what I 'ave to look forward to when I find a work?"

He leans forward and takes my hand, "No- Fleur, no, you won't have to worry about this-"

"Pourquoi?" I demand, my voice clotted with tears.

"Because-"

I cut him off, "Because Veela are beautiful? Because people like to look at us? What eez to stop zem from putting us in cages and treating us like creatures?!"

"Fleur," he says, squeezing my hand. "You're getting hysterical."

I am. I know I am. But all I can think of are Laure's words today, and Angele's words in the past. If I'm not completely human, will someone rip my job away from me one day? Will I be discriminated against because of my bloodlines and what I essentially am a part of? It makes me sick to think about it. It makes me worry for the future- worry because things aren't getting better as far as persecution goes.

Brushing violently at my eyes again- ripping my hand from his- I say, "I am fine." He looks worried and unconvinced, so I repeat myself, "I am _fine_," though I don't know how true that actually is.

January is turning out to be very threatening, and I worry for the weeks ahead.


	27. The Egg in the Water

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
The Egg in the Water**

No one else mentions the article to me again. It doesn't seem to have even occurred to anyone else that I'm part Veela, or that the article has anything to do with me in any way. Even Cedric- who, I cringe just thinking about it, I cried in front of- has refrained from talking about it. Though, he tried to bring it up the day after I had stayed in the hospital wing, but I made it quite clear I didn't want to ever discuss it again. He did as I asked, wanting to respect my wishes and avoid any kind of fight or scene. Actually, the only people who even seem to have connected me to the article are Laure and Angele. They haven't said anything else about it, but they shoot glances at me that are filled with reminders of what the article said- what it means for 'half-breeds'- but I try to ignore them. I try to put the stupid thing behind me all together, focusing on my schoolwork and my secret meetings with Cedric. I do this so well, that I don't even realize when I'm sitting in the middle of January- more than half of the month already gone.

"Haff you figured out the egg?" Viktor asks me one afternoon, while we work on our homework in the library.

Looking up at him with trepidation, I shake my head grudgingly. I've tried to work on the egg- to figure out what the screeching and wailing could possibly mean- but all it's gotten me are complaints from the other girls in the dormitory and a ridiculous amount of frustration. And I'm not going to lie and say I haven't considered taking up Cedric's offer and having him just tell me how to figure out the egg, but I'm too proud to do that. I need to do this on my own- I _can_ do this on my own.

"'ave you?" I ask.

Viktor nods, looking down and scribbling at his parchment again.

I sit back in my chair and bite my lip. I wonder if Harry Potter's figured it out too. If he has, I would feel seriously embarrassed. It's one thing for Cedric and Viktor to figure out the clue before me, but the fourteen year old boy? No. I'm proud enough to feel that that would not be okay, and I suddenly feel an extreme amount of hopelessness fill up my insides.

"Cedreek 'as feegured it out as well," I tell him, pinching at the material of my skirt.

Viktor looks up, "Has he been helping you vith it?"

I shake my head.

"I vill help you if you vould like," Viktor says very quietly, looking at me with caution.

Shaking my head, I fold my arms over my chest and say, "Non. Zat eez not bien."

"As a friend," he reasons.

"Ze Tournament will lose eets purpose eef we all 'elp each uzzer because we are amis," I remind him. "Zees eez a competition, after all."

Viktor frowns, "You are being right, but even so- I vill be helping you if you are needing it."

"Merci, Viktor," I reply. "But I would steel prefere to do zees alone."

Nodding, he says, "You vill be letting me know if you change your mind?"

I nod in return, but somehow I don't think I'll be changing my mind about this- not when I've come this far.

* * *

During our study hall on Thursday, Cedric and I sit a casual distance apart- close enough to whisper and pass notes casually- in the back of the room. No one pays us any mind, because everyone is talking and getting in trouble closer to the front- restless for the weekend ahead. And even if we were being looked at, we're far enough apart that it seems like we just happen to be seated at the same table. While I pretend to read, Cedric draws me a cartoon of Mad-Eye Moody yelling at a class of trembling first years. Cedric feigns taking notes, and I write him a flirty message. We act like children- silly and nonsensical with one another- and it's wonderful. And when we're sure no one's looking, I grab a quill and brush Cedric's hand- my fingers lingering longer than would be considered appropriate. From under half-closed lids, Cedric sneaks glances at me, and I make discreet and ugly faces at him in return. He smiles and we hold hands under the table. And when we're leaving the hall with everyone else, we walk slowly- trailing behind as everyone else disappears down the corridor in clusters.

Cedric takes my hand and leans in to steal a quick kiss. I smile at him as he pulls away and we keep walking lazily.

"We air workeeng on our pozzions homework this Saturday?" I ask.

Something about Cedric changes. Suddenly, his hand is more tightly laced with mine, he's walking closer to me- if possible- and he looks like he wants to cry. Instead, he swallows. I can only guess what's coming next.

Looking at me, he says, "Fleur, I'm sorry- I told Cho I'd go with her to Hogsmeade on Saturday."

I feel as if my insides are icing over.

It seems that he can see the coolness from the outside, because he quickly says, "I'll cancel- I'll tell her I need to work on my potions- that I said I would help you-"

"Do not be stupide," I say briskly, though I want to allow him to break his plans. "You made zees plans avec 'er and you 'ave to keep zem. You air 'er petit ami, after all."

Cedric stops in the empty hall and I turn and look at him- forcing myself to seem confused.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

He lets go of my hand and hitches his bag further up his shoulder, rubs his face and sighs. "Fleur, I really am-"

"You do not 'ave to eexplain yourself to me, Cedreek," I say, my voice clipped again- I can't help it, my insides have turned into a war of ice and fire. "You air steel 'er petit ami and I understand zat."

He stares at me.

"I am not angry."

But I am- I'm _furious_- and I don't know if it's directed toward Cedric or Cho.

"I love you, Fleur," he says, his voice soft and sweet. "You have to know that."

It makes me melt just a little and I nod, giving him a sad smile, "I know zat."

Carefully, he leans in and cups my face in his warm hands, stroking my cheek very gently with his thumbs. And with a rueful smile, he leans in and kisses me.

My insides go from fire and ice to fighting butterflies, and I kiss him back.

* * *

On Saturday, when everyone else has gone to Hogsmeade, I take my golden egg outside and go for a walk around the lake.

Nothing has changed about the clue. When I open it, it still screams. It doesn't stop or change pitch, or anything of the like. It continues to emit the most unpleasant and guttural scream I've ever heard, and I have to shut it immediately- before it makes my eyes water too much and my ears ring to bleeding. It still frustrates me so much that I want to smash it against the pebbled beach below me. Though, somehow I manage to keep it in one piece as I walk, contemplating whether or not I should open it again- here in the open, where no one else is around to hear it. But I, myself, don't want to hear that horrible shrieking again, so I keep it firmly shut in my hands as I begin to pace a little on the beach.

Let's think about this really. What could Cedric and Viktor (and possibly little Harry Potter) have done to figure out the clue? What questions did they ask? What did they try? What did they _do_?

Urgh.

Well, let's think. What have I learned about eggs?

Mon Dieu, what kind of question is that? It's not even remotely intelligent!

All right, focus, Fleur.

Dragons lay eggs. Uh..... Other dangerous magical creatures lay eggs.

Are they going to make us face another deadly animal- is the screaming supposed to signify how we will react if we don't-

I realize I'm clenching the egg with whitening knuckles, and I cut off my train of thought, taking a deep breath and loosening my grip once again.

Looking around and taking a moment for myself, I realize for the first time just how empty the grounds are, now that a vast majority of the school has gone to Hogsmeade. And thinking about it reminds me of Cedric- Cedric in Hogsmeade with Cho. Cho, the nice girl whose boyfriend I am subsequently borrowing. Cho, Laure and Angele's Hogwarts friend. Cho, the girl who is also borrowing the love of my life. Cho, the girl I hate, but know I have no good reason to. With my throat clenching, I feel my fingers tightening around my egg again, slipping against the liquid gold of a shell.

The frustration mounts inside of me. Anger at Cedric for loving both of us. Disappointment in myself for being part of such a horrible triangle- a triangle that poor Cho isn't even aware of. Annoyance that I can't figure this stupid, damn egg out- annoyance that everyone else has. Fear that I'll lose Cedric. Fear that we'll hurt Cho and it will be nasty. Fear that I'll lose this tournament. Fear that I'll let everyone down- most of all, myself. Anger and frustration that Angele and Laure will have something to laugh at when this Tournament spits me back out, defeated, and I'll have to go back to France without proof of my ability or the love of my life.

I don't realize I've chucked the damn egg forward until I see the flash of gold in the late afternoon sun, and hear the heavy 'plop' into the water.

With an instinctual hesitation delaying me, I stare at the spot where the water is now rippling and I run a hand through my hair, trying to decide what to do.

I can't actually go in the water and get it- it's freezing out here and I'm sure I'd catch some kind of deadly cold if I went in there now. But, conveniently, I've forgotten my wand back in the Tour de Terreur, so I've got to make some kind of decision. I mean, I could go up and get my wand, but who's to say someone won't come out here and find it or something. No, I can't leave it unattended. But then again, I can't just go in the water and freeze.

I'm a stupid Veela.

Gritting my teeth, I walk toward the water's edge, and then stop. I look behind me and along the beach, wondering if anyone's watching me, but I see that I'm alone. Everyone's gone to Hogsmeade. So, with one last huff of a sigh, I step into the water, my sneakers going immediately soggy and my toes cramping, bracing against the cold. But I continue on because I can see the gold of the egg glinting just a few meters away, under the surface of the slightly murky water.

Ice water permeates my silken pants up to my shins and I shiver as a biting wind pulls my skin tight to my body. Finally, when the water's just up to my thighs, I can bend over, submerging my arms under as well, and clutch the now slippery egg in my fingers. I'm about to pull the egg out of the water when something stops me.

What would happen if I opened the egg under water? I wonder. I haven't done it yet and it can't hurt to try, right?

My fingers are clumsy and awkward, but I manage to unhinge the egg under the water, and instead of hearing the usual screaming and shrieking, a soft, trilling melody sounds from under the surface. Awkwardly, I lower myself down and actually submerge my ear under the water as well, ignoring the frigid water seeping under my hair and toward my scalp.

Suddenly, an airy voice is singing from the egg and I have to strain to be able to hear it and translate at the same time, but I think I manage enough, and the song goes like this:

"_Come seek us where our voices sound,  
We cannot sing above the ground,  
And while you're searching, ponder this:  
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,  
An hour long you'll have to look,  
And to recover what we took,  
But past an hour - the prospect's black,  
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._"*

When the voice stops singing, I wrench myself out of the water's surface. Plunging my hands back down, I close the egg, lock it up, and it pull it back out into the frigid air. Shivering almost violently, I stare across the glassy top of the lake's surface, wondering what this riddle could mean, hoping that my translation is accurate enough for me to the grasp the meaning. But, really, what _is_ the meaning? What have they taken that I'll 'sorely miss?' What will I have an hour to look for? And where?

As I stare at the water rippling in the cold winter wind, my fingers clenched around the egg, I realize- fully and consciously- that I could only hear the egg's message under water. Are they- I mean, they wouldn't.... We're not going to look for something in the water, are we? For a whole hour?

As I continue to stare over the water- wondering how deep this lake is and whether or not it will be a part of the second task- a cold slick dread spreads over my whole body, and I find I'm unable to move from where I'm standing in the lake, confused and anxious.

* * *

*Lyrics belong solely to J.K. Rowling.


	28. The Second Task

**Author's Note:** It has certainly been a while. Summer was taken up by laziness and other stories, and the school year thus far has consisted of school work and college applications, which are both ridiculously time-consuming. Here is chapter twenty-eight though! Hope everyone likes it!

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
The Second Task  
**

By the morning of the second task, I haven't completely figured out the egg's song. I've spent hours in the bath with it, listening and pondering its words. I've scribbled out the lines of the song and translated them a thousand times over. And there's only so much I can glean from what's been sung to me, leaving the rest up to guesswork. So far, I know that the task will have to take place in the lake somehow- hence, the fact that the voices would only 'sound' under water. And from my extensive research, the Black Lake contains mermaids- who can only be heard under water. So, there's that. Also- as is pretty obvious- I'll only have an hour to search for whatever it is they've taken from me, and if I don't find it within that timeframe.... Well, apparently the prospect's black. But what they're taking I can't even guess at. And what kind of obstacles they're going to throw our way- besides the obvious- I don't even want to know.

During breakfast, I leave the Great Hall to meet Madame in her office to prepare for the task. I'm walking on weak legs as I go, my stomach feeling as if it's going to drop out of my body, and I can only be grateful that I don't feel _as_ bad as I did before the first task.

"Fleur!"

Just before I ascend the staircase, I turn and see Cedric hurrying towards me.

"I wanted to wish you luck before we had to head down for the task," he says, looking slightly unsure as I stare at him blankly. "Bonne chance!"

Nodding, I say, "Merci," and turned to walk up the stairs.

"Fleur," he say again, taking hold of my wrist, stopping me. I turn to him, waiting with an impatient look in my eyes. "I feel like I haven't seen very much of you for the past _month_."

I just stare at him.

"Where have you been?" he asks. "Did I do something?"

_You're still dating Cho!_ I want to scream. _On top of all that this tournament has become, you're still dating Cho and nothing is working out the way it should!_

Shortly, I say, "Non."

"Then what is it?" he asks.

"Nuzzing," I tell him. "I 'ave been bizzy avec le tournament and my classes."

He looks at me skeptically.

Not wanting to vent anymore of my personal frustrations onto him, I say, "Excuse moi- I 'ave to meet wiz Madame," and I turn quickly, hurrying up the stairs.

"Fleur!"

I stop and turn, looking down at him with a resigned expression taking over my face.

"Bonne chance," he says.

"Good luck, Cedreek," I reply, and leave him in the cold, empty hall.

In the Tour de Terreur, I find Madame in her office, staring out of a window, patting down her hair compulsively. When I enter through the open doorway, she immediately turns distractedly, looking at me as if I'm some kind of apparition- like she doesn't recognize me.

"Madame?" I prompt.

She starts, and then turns from the window, dropping her hands to her side. "Fleur," she says. "Are you ready?"

"Oui, madame."

"Bien, bien," she says, looking around her office as if she's forgotten something. Looking back to me, she continues, "There are appropriate clothes waiting for you on your bed. Change, and then come down to the lake when you're done."

The lake.

Just like I figured.

I nod. "D'accord, Madame."

She nods as well, and then says, "I will see you down there," and starts for the door. Before she exits her office- standing in the doorway- she turns back to me. "Bonne chance, Fleur- Beauxbatons has every confidence in you."

Not all of Beauxbatons, I know, but I still smile, thank her, and pretend it's true.

* * *

Outside, it's freezing, and my track pants, jacket, and robe aren't warming me in the least. The air is hard with the threat of snow, and my breath comes out in puffs of erratic steam as I walk from the castle to the lake. I'm shivering violently, my stomach tightening into a clenched knot in my abdomen. Up ahead, I see the stands have been set up across the far side of the lake, and the judges are standing by a table at the water's edge- Cedric and Viktor not far beside them. As I approach, I see Cedric turn and watch me, his eyes seeming to both long for me and beg me of something, and I find that I need to tear myself away as I draw closer.

"Fleur," Viktor says when he sees me, and he smiles brightly as I reach him.

"Mad-uh-muah-zelle Dellacore," Monsieur Bagman bounds up to me, his face shining and his tone exuberant, even though he's butchering my language. "Comment allay voo?"

Oh, mon Dieu.

In English, I say, "I am well, Monsieur Bagman, zank you."

"Good, good," he nods. "The boys are over there, as you can see, and we're just waiting for everyone to arrive- and Mr. Potter, of course."

I give him a tight smile and nod.

He nods too. "Right- er- Good luck!"

With another flick of a smile, I leave him, making my way over to Cedric and Viktor. I pass the judge's table and Madame gives me a reassuring nod and a smile. I try to smile back, but I'm afraid I just look queasy, so I nod in return. Just as I reach Cedric and Viktor, I notice the stands across the water are filled- absolutely packed- and I swallow the spasm in the back of my throat.

"You are being ready?" Viktor asks me.

Looking over at him- as if remembering he and Cedric were even there- I reply honestly, saying,"I am feeling sick." I glance over at the stands and away. "Mai- But I weel be fine."

Viktor gives me a sympathetic nod. "It is only being a little svim."

I roll my eyes good-naturedly, even though I want to retch into the lake's shallows. "Juste un petit swim- Quelle comedie!"

"You vill be fine," Viktor assures me with a smile. "Ve all vill," he looks at Cedric, who is still staring at me with a furrowed brow.

It seems that Viktor is going to say something else, but Bagman is suddenly asking, "Where is Mr. Potter?"

"How much longer until the task, sir?" Cedric finally speaks, tearing his eyes away from me.

"Not too long now," Monsieur Bagman replies. "A few minutes now."

Suddenly, I'm grateful that I didn't eat un petit dejeuner today, because my empty stomach has nothing to squeeze out now. Just thinking about sitting at the breakfast table this morning makes me sick and.... Wait.... I didn't see Gabrielle at le petit dejeuner. Did I- Did I see her last night? I was so caught up in the tournament and practicing my bubble-head charm that I didn't look to see if she was in her bed when I went to sleep after midnight.... Oh, _Dieu_. I whip my head around and frantically scan the crowd across the lake but it's no use, it's too far.

"Fleur?"

It's Cedric, looking at me with concern beside Viktor.

"Ma soeur," I said pathetically- frantically. "Ou est ma soeur?"

"What?" he says. "Fleur, what-"

I shout, "Gabrielle! I 'ave not seen 'er seence hier!"

"She is being fine," Viktor assures me. "She is probably vith friends- enjoying the day of no classes."

"Fleur, it's only morning," Cedric points out. "You were probably just too preoccupied with the tournament, you probably didn't even notice you saw her."

This makes sense but- If anything happened to her.... Like when I nearly killed her from my own stupidity when she was a baby- when I dropped her at the top of the stairs and watched her bleed and scream, too terrified to do anything but watch my mother pick her up and cry.... I shut my eyes against the images and cover my mouth with both hands, suddenly frigid to the marrow.

"Fleur," Cedric says, his voice low and soothing as he gets close and puts a hand on my arm. "It's okay- She's fine."

"Mais-"

He shakes his head. "Hogwarts is the safest wizarding school in the world- Nothing has happened to her."

I stare at him, searching his irises for the strength and reassurance burning there.

"You're stressed- the tournament's getting to you," he says. "Just breathe."

I do as he says, filling up my lungs with cold, mucky-smelling air, and my head clears just slightly, pushing out some of the panic.

_Cedric says everything's fine.... Cedric says everything's fine._

"I'm here!" Harry Potter skids to a stop in the mud, splattering my robes, but I'm too preoccupied to care.

Cedric takes his hand away as the judges' attention is drawn over to us.

"It's about time!" a lanky redhead says from the judge's table and- who is he? I didn't even notice him there. Maybe the tournament _is_ getting to me. "The task is about to start!"

Monsieur Crouch isn't here so- Oh, yes! That's Monsieur Crouch's assistant, Monsieur Weasley. He filled in for him at the Yule Ball, I think.

Monsieur Bagman steps in, "That's all right, Percy! He's here now!" He nods to Harry and says, "Just take a moment to catch your breath, son," and then begins taking us like chess pieces and moving us along the bank, several meters apart. As he moves down along the bank, to Harry, I notice for the first time that Viktor and Cedric are both in swimming costumes, and I take off my robe, stepping out of my shoes and my track suit with fumbling, shaking movements. Leaving me clothes on the beach in a pile, I shiver in my bathing suit, goosebumps sprouting up all over my body.

"Welcome, one and all, to the second task!" Monsieur Bagman's charmed voice booms out over the lake. "All of our champions are ready and the task will begin on my whistle. They will have one hour to retrieve what has been taken from them, and an hour alone!" He gives us a smile then says, "On the count of three- One, two, _three_!"

Cedric and Viktor both bolt into the water as soon as the whistle screams in the space around us, but Harry Potter hangs back, pulling off his socks and shoes, looking every bit the child that he is. And as he dallies like a bit of a fool, I hurry into the frigid water, gasping at the cold, all of my skin clenching against me in horror. I feel slimy, mucky stone and silt underneath my feet and I cringe, quickly muttering the bubble-head charm and diving under the water, the lower half of my face protected from the water and the cold.

The frigid water surrounds me, shocking my senses into hyper-drive. Before I was out of it, loopy with fatigue, stress, and tension, but now I'm on high alert. Opening my eyes, I can barely see anything. This underwater world is murky, tinged in dark browns and greens, and I can only make out the silhouettes of plants and rock in the distance, the dreary sunlight overhead only shadowing the landscape even more. I'm so surprised for some reason- so mesmerized by my surroundings- that I need to remind myself that this is the second task, that I only have an hour, and that I have to retrieve.... _something_. Propelling myself forward, I venture further into the lake, the bottom dropping out below me as I swim. And as I go, I look around me- at the craggy flooring, in the weedy tendrils floating up from the bottom of the lake, in the water around me, above, but I see nothing of any significance. Something I'll sorely miss....

Like, my own jewelry?

No. This task is supposed to test me, it'll be much more profound than that....

Suddenly, I realize that I can't see the bottom of the lake anymore, and I swallow, the bubble around my head feeling too small for my taste, my stomach disappearing all together.

If they had us face dragons, who's to say what could be lurking in the waters around me?

Futilely, I look in the water around me- hoping to see Cedric or Viktor, or even Harry Potter- but all I see are thick groves of seaweed and some errant fish that swim away from every kick of my feet. Realizing that I'm alone here, I take a deep, warm breath, and start to kick forward, but before I get very far, long, scaly fingers are closing around my ankles, and I'm being pulled down, down, into the darker depths of the lake.

A scream erupts from my throat, but it's muffled in the space of the bubble, and the water is rushing past my ears so quickly that I don't hear it properly. Quickly, I look down, seeing four or five little water demons holding onto my legs, pulling me down with angry, ferocious looks on their faces. I frantically kick at them, managing to send two floating away. The other three aren't strong enough to pull me on their own, so we float in limbo. Reaching down- my movements slowed in the water- I pry their bony digits off of my ankles, but another one swims up- fast as lightening- and actually bites my hand with its fangs. It's the ugliest little monster I've ever seen, a ghostly grayish-green, with horns and fangs, scaly, bony arms, and tentacles like an octopus, and its bite stings.

"Allez!" I scream, but of course they don't hear or understand, and they all swarm around me- four multiplying to eight, to ten, to fifteen, as if they were all hiding and waiting for this.

Tentacles wrap around me, fingers clutch and tighten and I can't see anything but green water and scaly, shimmering grindylow flesh.

Fumbling with my wand, I try to think of an effective spell but for some reason all I can think of is _glisseo_- and I don't need to turn stairs into a ramp or slide!

Another grindylow bites me and I finally shout, "_IMPEDIMENTA_!" and although I put enough force in it to knock out a centaur, it's strength is lost in the bubble and by the fear and panic clenching every organ in my body- most importantly, my brain and my heart.

I struggle. I twist and I try to wrench away from them, but they tear at my skin and they strangle me, biting, scratching, choking, clenching. And I don't think about what's going to happen to me, surprisingly; instead, I think of what my parents will say. _Killed by grindylows! We told her she wasn't able to get through this tournament!_ and I fight against them with double the determination.

"_IMPEDIMENTA_!" I scream again, and it actually causes a good couple of them to be stunned, floating away with dazed looks on their frozen faces.

While some of them are off of me, I try to swim away, but they crowd in closer, some more of them coming in for the kill. And suddenly, the most piercing, wild pain is shooting up and down my neck, a grindylow attached to it, and my head is swimming. For a moment, I'm paralyzed- mind and body-binded- and my eyes flutter closed against it. I can't even think deeply enough to fight it.

And then there's blissful emptiness, and I'm in someone's arms- someone who's taking me up- but everything goes black.

* * *

Shocking cold all around me and I'm jolted into awareness, the bubble around my face keeping only my mouth and nose warm. I'm handed off from the water, into the arms of one of the Beauxbatons attendants- not Jean-Pierre, merci for that- and I glance a merman in the water, talking to the judges at the water's edge, and I can't even care that I was just in his arms- that he just saved me- because they're putting me on a cot and fussing over me, and my head is swimming in pain and nausea and I can't think straight.

Madam Pomfrey undoes the bubble charm and I suck in cold, murky air, shivering and shaking violently.

"Madam Pomfrey, that is an awful lot of blood," I hear someone say, and I look over, half-seeing Professeur McGonagall standing over me among the crowd. "And are those...."

Covering me with a massive blanket, Madam Pomfrey begins to mop up my front with a towel, saying, "Yes, from a grindylow. They got to the carotid artery, but she'll be all right."

Looking down briefly, I see the front of my torso, streaming in red, and my eyes flutter closed again, but I don't fall into the blackness once more. Instead, I listen as Madam Pomfrey charms my neck healed, and then tends to the rest of my lacerations and injuries with poultices and spells and other tricks of the trade, adding on blankets and towels as my shivering never subsides. And I know she's trying her hardest- that she can only do so much- but I'm still in a tremendous amount of pain. There are muscles that are strained that she's not getting, the ghost of cuts and bites that still sting, and I'm having trouble breathing properly. But I endure, and when she's finally cleaned me up and wrapped me in a robe and some blankets, I'm able to sit up.

"I can go back now, yes?" I say, and as I stand up my head swims.

Madam Pomfrey sternly says, "No," and pushes me back down onto the cot.

"But I am able to go back to ze task!" I insist. "I am not going to lose because of zis!"

"I'm sorry Miss Delacour," she says. "You have already been formally retired from this task- those grindylows hit an artery, you're in no shape to go back in there!"

I glare at her- thinking of murder- and I say, "I deed not approve of zis retirement!"

"I've spoken with the judges and they won't permit you to continue under the circumstances," she tells me, her voice hard and sure. "You don't have a choice, Miss Delacour, you'll have to take fourth place."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?!" I shriek. "Forz place?!"

She nods, cleaning up the table beside my cot, gathering her bottles and jars and swiping some into a wastebasket.

"Non!" I say, causing a few people to look over and watch the argument. "I weel go back in zat water!"

"And anything you do will not be counted in the tournament," she replies. "You have already retired."

I stare at the water, feeling as if the world is falling in around me and it's my own fault.

Softening slightly, Madam Pomfrey pats my arm and says, "Don't worry, your sister will be fine."

This makes me whip my head around, and I demand, "What? What deed you say?"

She looks at me strangely. "Miss Delacour?"

"What about ma soeur?"

She stares at me for a moment, and then realization dawns on her, and it seems she's let something slip that she shouldn't have. "Oh- I- Nothing, Miss Delacour."

The pieces clink together and I'm dumbfounded.

I wasn't too stressed out this morning, Gabrielle really wasn't at breakfast. And she wasn't in her bed last night either. Someone's taken her and- and put her in the _lake_?! I grow faint for a moment. She was what I would sorely miss? _My sister_?! And I'm not in there- where I'm supposed to be- rescuing her!

Jumping to my feet, I say, "J'ai besoin d'aller! J'ai- J'ai-" Madam Pomfrey stops me before I can jump back into the water, forcibly holding me back.

"You can not, Miss Delacour," she says, pushing me back with her hands on my shoulders. "You can not."

"Mais ma soeur-"

She shakes her head and firmly says, "Everything will be fine."

But I don't believe her.

"Now," she says, once she sees me go slack. "Sit down and have some pepper-up potion."

* * *

By the time Cedric breaks the surface of the lake with Cho Chang, I can't even care that she's the person they chose for him to retrieve; I'm too wrapped up in fear and panic and such an all-encompassing sense of anxiety that I can't think of anything else but my sister. What happens if she isn't saved in an hour? Are those water demons going to take her for themselves? Will she drown? Will Dumbledore let that happen in his own lake? I don't know, and I stand at the edge of the water, staring, waiting for her little blonde head to break the surface so I can hug her and never let her out of my sight again.

Honestly, I would go in there and get her out myself if only Madam Pomfrey wasn't watching me from nearby like a hawk.

"Congratulations, Mr. Diggory," Monsieur Bagman says to Cedric, who is getting robed and toweled with Cho Chang by Madam Pomfrey. "You're the first to return."

Cedric smiles and nods his thanks, and watches as Madam Pomfrey drags Cho off for some potion.

That woman and her damn potion.

Slowly, Cedric turns, congratulated from people on all sides of him, and then his eyes fall on me, and he walks away from them, up to where I stand at the water's edge.

"Fleur," he says, confusion filling his voice. "I don't- They said-"

_They said I was first, what are you doing here?  
_  
"Eet was ze grindylows," I tell him, tears jumping into my throat as I say it. I swallow past my shame and say, "Zey cut my zroat and I 'ad to retire."

Cedric's face falls, and he says, "Oh, Fleur, I'm so sorry. Are you-"

"Mr. Krum has returned with Miss Granger!" Bagman's voice soars over us, and I swallow hard.

Where is my sister?

"My seester," I say to Cedric. "Deed you see 'er?"

He nods.

"Was she all right?"

Sadly, he shrugs, "She looked like they all did- asleep and peaceful."

"What weel 'appen?" I ask desperately, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Zey weel save 'er, n'est-ce pas?"

Before Cedric can reply, Bagman's voice is booming over us again, saying, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley..... _and_ Miss Delacour have emerged from the water! And it seems they've brought an entourage!"

At the sound of my name, I look over and see my sister with the two boys swimming towards the beach, surrounded by a whole ring of mermen, and a sense of relief fills me up- and it's so extreme that it actually doubles my lightheadedness, making me sway on my feet. Despite this weakness, I make a dash for the water, but Madame Maxime holds me back.

"Fleur, wait!" she says to me in low, stern French, but I fight against her anyway.

That's my _sister_! I thought she was going to die- I thought they were going to leave her in there and I thought it was my fault....

"Fleur!" Madame scolds, but I finally break free of her, splashing into the shallows towards Gabrielle and the boys.

"Gabrielle!" I shout. "Gabrielle! Eez she all right?! Eez she 'urt?"

Feebly, Harry Potter says, "She's okay."

When they're close enough I pull my sister into a tight, surrounding embrace, burying my face in her wet hair for a moment, saying, "Eet was ze grindylows.... I tried to fight zem, but zey attacked me...." I pull away and look at her properly, finding- with more relief- that she is perfectly intact.

She gives me a tired smile.

"Are you all right?" I ask in French.

She nods. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," I say, ignoring the judges as they go off to converse in a cluster at their table. "I didn't know and I tried but- Those beasts attacked me and when they tended to my neck they wouldn't let me back in the water."

Gabrielle shakes her head and smiles as one of the Beauxbatons attendants puts a robe and a blanket around her shoulders. "You tried, Fleur- I was okay, besides."

I nod to myself, feeling sad and defeated, but relieved and content beyond belief. As I put my arm around her and herd her out of the water, Madam Pomfrey comes up to us and tries to tend to the cuts still left on my face, but I swat her away as I spot Harry Potter shivering nearby.

"Tend to Gabrielle," I say to Madam Pomfrey and leave her, heading over to the fourteen-year-old champion. "You saved 'er."

He looks up at me, his eyes going huge- like saucers- and he nods dumbly.

"Even though she wasn't yours."

This makes him pause, and then he says, "Yeah."

Swooping down, I kiss him on both cheeks, and express my gratitude, saying, "Zank you- Zank you vairy much!" Then, when I spot his redheaded friend- who came out of the water with Gabrielle- I say, "And you 'elped as well?"

He tries to shrug nonchalantly but I don't mind his attempt at being aloof. Instead, I kiss him as well and say, "Zank you."

I'm returning to Gabrielle's side- where Cedric, Viktor, and Cho Chang are sipping a warming potion- when Monsieur Bagman's magnified voice echoes over our heads.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the judges have come to a conclusion." As Bagman says it a hush falls across the grounds around us. "Miss Delacour- though she was unable to retrieve her hostage because of a grindylow attack- executed superb use of the Bubble-Head charm, and therefore, we award her twenty-five points out of fifty."

There's some clapping from the stands and I frown, muttering, "I do not deserve zat."

Cedric meets my eyes and gives me a subtle shake of his head, as if to say, 'Don't sell yourself so short.'

"Mr. Diggory also showed impressive control of the Bubble-Head charm and managed to retrieve his hostage- though outside of the time limit," Bagman says. There is some booing from the stands as he continues, saying, "Nevertheless, the judges have awarded him forty-seven point!"

More clapping and screaming from the stands.

Cho looks at him, as if she and he exude sunshine together, and he smiles, looking towards me the moment Cho looks back to Bagman. I give him a sad smile and he gives me an understanding nod.

When Bagman continues, he says, "Mr. Krum utilized an incomplete form of Transfiguration which was, nevertheless, effective, and was second to return with his hostage. The judges award him forty points."

I manage to smile for Viktor, but he doesn't even look my way. He's too busy checking for the frizzy-haired girl's reaction, even though she's focused more on Harry Potter and his redheaded friend.

"Harry Potter used gillyweed quite effectively," Monsieur Bagman continues, and I put my arm around Gabrielle. "He was well outside the time limit and last to return, though the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages and was held back by his determination to return them all safely to shore." This arises a smattering of applause. "Most of the judges feels this shows strong moral fiber."

Everyone waits, anxious and silent, eager to hear what Harry's score will be.

"The judges award Mr. Potter forty-five points!"

There's shouting and whistling and applause.

Second place. He's a fourteen year old boy and he won second place- he was able to make it through the lake and return his own hostage as well as mine.

He deserves it, I force myself to remember, giving Gabrielle's trembling figure a squeeze in my embrace. He absolutely deserves it.

* * *

After receiving a discreet note from Cedric asking me to meet him near our favorite meeting spot- Franz Lichsten the Intolerable- I comply. Just before midnight I bundle up in cashmere, make sure Gabrielle is safe and fast asleep, and head up to Franz Lichsten.

The fifth floor corridor by the picture windows is dark and cold- making me shiver almost violently- but Cedric is leaning beside the statue, waiting for me, and it seems to warm me enough for me to walk up to him. And the moment I'm within touching distance, he encircles his strong arms around me, his body heat fighting away any cold lingering in my heart. I can't help but sink into his embrace in return when he touches me, all my bruises and failures from the day making me weak and defenseless. He buries his face in my hair for a moment, breathing deeply, before leaning his forehead against my own, gently taking hold of fistfuls of my hair in his hands, and it feels wonderful.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I whisper, my hands pressed to his chest, wondering why he feels so destroyed when he was the winner today.

He shakes his head. "This day," he says, but doesn't finish his thought.

"You were ze first," I remind him softly, looking at his face- so beautiful and strong and close to my own. "Ze champion of ze task."

Opening his eyes, he moves away just a little, cupping my jaw with both hands. He shakes his head again, saying, "I know, and it's great, but when I looked over and saw you on the beach today and you looked so lost and sad and-"

"Delicate?" I ask, hoping I've thought of the right word in English, wishing it had the same weight and feel as it does in French.

He stares at me for a moment, not saying anything, then: "It made me want to- I just felt like I had to-"

"Save me?" I prompt, feeling so tired and dejected all of a sudden.

Cedric slouches a little and strokes my cheek slightly with his thumb. "Is that bad?" he asks, in French for me.

I smile sadly, feeling so tired and drained that I want to cry. And I say, "I would not mind being saved today."

He smiles slightly in return and pulls me into his arms again, and for the first time in a while, I don't try to fight feeling delicate, I just let it wash over me and away.


	29. Days that are Numbered

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**  
**Days that are Numbered**

For the entirety of six years, I was the center of attention. I was Papa's little princess, Mama's little girl. Every birthday and holiday, I was showered with gifts and treats, kissed and fawned over, allowed to stand alone in the light of my parents' love. I played with Mama every day, helping her cook and dressing myself up in her clothes, dancing with her and playing games, and Papa put me up on a pedestal and treated me like some kind of precious gemstone. They kept me from the cruelty of the world. Voldemort was a distant figure I need not worry about. Being part veela didn't make me any less human- would never turn people against me. The world consisted of me, and anything that branched outward from me, that was it. And so, by the time I was six, I was spoiled rotten and too sheltered for my own good.

And then Mama and Papa told me I would have a baby brother or sister in a little less than six months. I couldn't comprehend it- couldn't appreciate what that meant- and so I figured I would have a sibling that adored me and looked up to me, and it would be wonderful.

But then, with just a few months left until the baby's birth, I went to Papa's study with a broken doll in my hands and said, "Papa, my doll needs to be fixed."

Instead of picking me up and giving me a kiss, and fixing my doll with a wave of his wand, he said, "I'll get to it in a little, Fleur," and he hardly looked up from the writing he was doing.

"Papa," I said again, questioning him weakly, but he didn't look over. I marched over to him and pulled at his sleeve, thrusting my doll at him. "Papa, it's broken!"

"Fleur, please, I have things to do to get ready for the baby," he said, his voice harsh and stern, and he turned away from me with finality.

It shocked me, because he had never used a stern voice with me- had never denied me of anything or used a harsh word with me. And then I realized. It was the baby's fault. This baby wasn't even here yet and already it was taking my parents from me.

I decided then and there that I hated the baby.

My distaste for my sibling only grew when she was born. Everyone suddenly turned from me in favor of the bundle of baby- all glowing pink and gurgles- and it made me physically sick. Did no one care about me? Did I mean so little?

Gabrielle was almost a year old when the aching for more attention grew to be too much. It wasn't like my parents neglected me, but it wasn't like it had been before. And there was something inside of me that was desperate for that never-ending love and adoration. So, while my parents were downstairs, Gabrielle was napping, and her nurse was taking her afternoon tea, I snuck into the nursery.

At first I stood against the far wall, catching glimpses of my still, sleeping sister from the other side of the room, feeling a wretched guilt for sneaking in and watching her. But, as the minutes passed, I crept closer to her, until I was standing beside the crib, looking over the bars and staring at her sweet, deep breathing. And that's when the idea struck me- a way for me to get my parents attention. So, I lowered the bars of the crib like I had seen the nurse do, and I scooped Gabrielle up into my tiny, seven-year-old arms. I was startled by the confused sounds my sister made upon waking up, but I held her to me and she didn't cry, only gurgled and cooed.

Carefully, I moved out of the room, figuring my parents would be in the downstairs drawing room having Sunday brunch. I intended to bring the baby down to them. It would make them smile at me- even for a moment, even because I had brought them the daughter I thought they loved more- and I would feel that glow of love from them once again.

But when I was on the landing, a sudden commotion erupted in the kitchen- my father's dogs knocking over the cook for a piece of steak and tipping over a rack of pots in the process- and the sounds burst through the air like gunshots, so jarring that I fumbled with Gabrielle's heavy body in surprise.

I watched in horror as my sister's flailing body fell to the carpet of the upstairs hall. All sounds seemed to drain from my ears- gone were the dogs barking in the kitchen and the clanging of pots- all I could see and hear was Gabrielle falling to the floor with a distinct thud. And just as the noises in the kitchen began to decrease, Gabrielle began screaming. Her tiny face grew bright red and a small pool of blood seeped through the carpet from a cut on the carpet rollers. The sight of the blood made me freeze. I didn't know what to do, standing over my sister's screaming, bleeding fragile body.

Then, another sound punctured the world around me- my mother's earsplitting scream.

"What did you do?" she yelled, running up the stairs and scooping Gabrielle up in her arms. She looked at her, horrified at the dark liquid matting her soft, golden hair. "What did you do to the baby?"

My father bounded up the stairs next, "What is this?" he demanded, his eyes darting from Mama, to Gabrielle, to me.

"I didn't mean to- I-"

"What do we do?" Mama pleaded of Papa as tears streamed down her face.

Papa led her down the stairs with the baby in her arms, before they descended the stairs he looked back and shot a look at me.

Is she going to die? I wanted to ask. Have I killed my little sister?

But I didn't say a thing.

Of course, Gabrielle was okay. The healers took care of her and she was able to come home within the week, but I was never able to get over it. I was always paranoid of my sister's well-being after that- with this underlying guilt that I had permanently damaged her. I would sometimes just break down into tears as a child because I feared for her so much, even when nothing was wrong.

"Fleur, what is the matter?" my parents would ask, exasperatedly. "Everything's fine."

And they started referring to me as delicate, sensitive, and they treaded carefully around me- afraid the littlest things would set me off. And while I grew out of it- the crying and the gut-wrenching anxiety- my parents still think I'm the delicate one- easily hurt and upset- and I'm still always protective of my sister... to a point where I can get panicked.

Such was the case with Gabrielle being my hostage in the lake. It was more than just the fact that she was held hostage by merpeople at the bottom of a black lake- the whole time I had rapid-fire flashbacks. Seeing my sister's blood on the carpet. Watching my parents leave to take her to the hospital, with me left standing on the landing. Throwing up in the entrance hall right after they left, terrified to a point of sickness, thinking she was going to die and it was all my fault, feeling powerless to do anything about it. Feeling too powerless to save her and make a difference. They were mirror instances- me putting Gabrielle in danger, and being terrified I would lose her.

I'm only grateful my desire to be in this tournament didn't kill her.

* * *

Angele and Laure don't let my inability to complete the second task go unappreciated. They congratulate me on my failure, ask me how my _pathetic_ grindylow cuts were, and coo about how brave fourteen year old Harry Potter was to have fetched my sister for me. And while I refuse to dignify their words by reminding them that Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord as an infant, and that a water demon had lacerated a major artery, their reminders still get to me. It makes me that much more determined to do the third task well- to utilize this last chance to really prove myself.

So, I begin running around the lake every day before breakfast, pushing myself harder than ever before. And, while I run, I mentally thumb through various charms and spells, cataloguing wrist movements and pronunciations as I breathe in and out through my nose.

Sometimes I run into Viktor. Karkaroff has him training every day, before breakfast and after classes. He swims in the frigid lake, runs, does all kinds of strength exercises, and those are only the things I can see for myself. Sometimes we run together, silent and pensive, thinking our own thoughts while our breathing synchronizes and our steps fall together. And there doesn't have to be any words between us. Just being with Viktor- running alongside him, walking silently back up to the castle- makes me feel less alone, in a way I have never felt with any friend before. He has a way of being there for me, and relying on me, that I have never known before. We talk and joke about being foreign visitors at Hogwarts, discuss tournament mistakes we made, strategies we wish we had used, we comfort each other when we realize how far from home we were. And it's nice.

And several months with Viktor has made up for all those years of being 'friends' with Laure.

I'm just finishing a run around the lake- alone- in early March, when I head back to the castle to get ready and get breakfast. Perched atop a rock on the beach's edge, sits Viktor, and seeing him makes me pause. He's slumped over, his shoulders hunched and his head down, a magazine of some kind in his lap.

Approaching him carefully, I say, "Viktor?"

He looks up and I see the fallen expression on his face.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I ask. "What?"

"Somevun left this for to me to be finding this morning," he says, thrusting the magazine at me without meeting my eyes.

Looking down at it- which turns out to be a glossy and colorful spread called _Witch Weekly_- I see a photograph of Harry Potter. Knotting my eyebrows, I read the title of an article beside it that reads: _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache._

I shake my head. "Viktor, what does-?"

"Read the whole of it," he says.

I do- though I'm sure my translation is very, very rough- and I realize why he is so upset. According to the article, Hermione Granger- one of Harry Potter's friends- has been stringing along both Harry and Viktor. I remember how fondly Viktor talked of her- how excited he was when they were going to the Yule Ball together- and I suddenly want to throw this little wench into the lake by her bushy hair.

"Per'aps eet eez not zee trooz?" I offer, handing him back the magazine.

He shakes his head, rolling the magazine up in his tensing hands. "She is alvays being vith him- she is alvays _talking_ about him."

I frown, "Ask _'eem_. Talk to 'Arry and ask 'eem."

"I liked her!" Viktor says angrily, loudly, looking up. I see the hopeless expression in his face and I feel another flash of protectiveness towards him. I want to wring Hermione Granger's neck. "And she is just vanting famous vizards?"

"You know zat not," I remind him.

He lets out a frustrated breath through his nose. "I voz to be thinking that as a fellow champion Harry Potter vould be better than that," he grumbles.

"Talk wiz 'eem, Viktor," I command. "Tell 'eem 'ee eez wrong."

Viktor looks skeptical, and he stares at the pebbly beach.

"Is it bothering you?" he asks suddenly, looking up at me.

I knit my eyebrows together and shake my head. "Quoi?"

"Cedric," he says. "Vith that Hogvarts girl."

It's like being punched in the stomach, the reminder and the frankness with which he says it- the image of Cedric and Cho holding hands in the corridors- and I swallow, shaking my hair out behind me.

"Some of ze time," I reply, trying to keep my voice from biting.

Viktor frowns. "I am sorry, Fleur."

Clearing my throat, I shake ny head once more and wave away his words. "D'accord. Eet eez nuzzing."

He looks at me sadly, and I almost think he wants to say something more, but I'm not sure if I want to let him.

"We go take le petit dejeuner, yes?" I offer, before he can say anything further, and I set off toward the castle. After a beat, Viktor is at my side, the magazine still clutched angrily in his hand.

* * *

A week or so after Viktor shows me the article in _Witch Weekly_, my Muggle Studies class is canceled. It's the same time as Cedric's free period, so we meet by Franz Lichsten the Intolerable and escape into our favorite hidden passageways once more.

"What do you zink ze final task will be?" I ask Cedric as we climb an iron staircase and come out onto a hidden landing, lined with dusty old tapestries.

Cedric takes my hand in his as we continue walking, and he says, "Don't know. Don't care right now."

I look at him in surprise.

"We just finished the second task," he explains, laughing a little. "I don't want to even think about the third one for a good couple of weeks."

This is true. After the stress that the second task brought on, it's nice to not have anything to worry about until June. But, I'm not so nervous about the third task as I am excited right now. The third task is my final chance to prove myself- to win this tournament and show everyone what I'm really made of. And while that scared me before, I'm looking forward to it now.

"Peut-etre eet weel be tunnels," I say, looking around at the hidden passageway around us. "Comme- uh- comme- _like_ ze catacombs en France."

Cedric turns to me and smiles.

"Quoi?" I counter. "C'est possible! Peut-etre zey weel 'ave us look for treasure or somezing."

Laughing some more, Cedric grabs me around the waist and backs me up against the nearest tapestried wall. "C'est possible," he whispers, and the look on his face- the tone of his voice- sends shivers down my spine.

"Cedric..."

He bends down slowly and kisses me hard, making my breath catch in my throat without warning.

"You're beautiful," he says a moment later, when he finally pulls away.

I kiss him again, quickly, and say, "Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime," he agrees, and cups my face in his warm hands, pulling my lips to his once more.

And as he's kissing me- applying the most delicious pressure to my lips- I have a horrible thought. I don't think of Cho Chang or his feelings for her, I don't think of the Tournament or the fact that we're competitors, I don't even think about our relationship being secret. No, the thought that runs through my mind- that makes me very nearly pull away from Cedric right away- is about the future, the world following the Tournament.

What will happen when I go back to France? Will I ever see Cedric again? Will he want to see me? Or is he planning on sending me off, knowing full-well that I was just a short-time thing? Will he stay here, in Britain, and find a life here for himself- with Cho? Are my days with Cedric numbered?

And while I long to ask him, I don't want to hear the answer. How likely is it that we will be able to continue our relationship after this year?

I can just imagine the look on his face- the sorry expression that he'd wear as he let me down gently.  
_  
Fleur, I thought you understood this was just a fling while you were here...  
_  
It makes me pull away from him abruptly and turn to the wall.

"Fleur?" he says, sounding concerned.

_Be reasonable, Fleur,_ I tell myself.

Breathing deeply, and pulling up every ounce of Veela strength I have, I say, "Eet eez nuzzing- Dust."

And I manage to kiss him again, as if nothing is wrong at all.


End file.
